A Different Path
by Cross77
Summary: Grant Ward and Skye met when he was ten and she was eight. Quickly, they became best friends. But when he'd been left in the dirt again, Grant disappeared. He was found by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best: Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. Under their guidance, he rose through the ranks of the intelligence agency. And then she'd come barreling straight back into his life. Season One AU.
1. Skye

_**Flashback**_

Living next to an orphanage was not one of the things ten-year-old Grant Douglas Ward particularly enjoyed. Still, it gave him a small sense of relief knowing he wasn't alone in the fact that his parents hated his guts. He ignored the children playing in the orphanage as often as he could, instead retreating to the roof of his two-story house. On weekends, his family was never home, it was just him. During the week, he was homeschooled by both of his parents. At first, he had been pleased that they were homeschooling him, thinking they wanted to get more involved in his education. Boy, had his five-year-old self been stupid. They'd teach him, yes. And when he didn't get an answer right, he was lucky if all he got was a smack. If he didn't do well on one of his mother's tests, he'd usually go two days without eating and sometimes drinking. And on top of all of that, his older brother, Christian, would beat him. He'd beat him senseless and then make him beat Thomas for him. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that he beat his younger brother, or the fact that he was happy to do it so he could make the beatings less painful for Thomas. Because if Christian ever got his hands on him, oh boy, Grant did not want to think about that. At least Rosie was saved from the torture. Even Christian adored her. Grant was scrawny, pretty much skin and bones, but he usually wore a baggy hoodie and sweatpants to cover it up. Since it was a Friday afternoon and most of his bruises from the week had healed, Grant merely wore a white t-shirt and basketball shorts.

He sighed, kicking his feet aimlessly in the air as he relaxed on his rooftop. He usually brought a book with him, but today he had chosen not to. The kids at the orphanage were playing a game of kickball, and by the annoying laughing and yelling, he figured they were enjoying it. He didn't know how anyone could be so happy. He held a growing distaste for those who were happy, even for a second. He was never happy, how could he be when he knew just how cruel the world was? It was a terrible place to be born into. He hated the very fact that he had been born, but he never gathered up the courage to kill himself. Besides, what would he achieve by doing that? Complete darkness? Was heaven even real? He didn't know, and honestly, most of the time he didn't even care.

The weekends were his favorite time of the week, because from Friday morning to Monday morning, every single member of his family was gone from the house. They always went and spent the weekend somewhere else, whether it be a vacation or one of the other houses his wealthy parents owned. Grant was never allowed to go, he was the one his parents hated the most. They cared somewhat about Christian but they loved Rosie and Thomas. They absolutely despised him. He was glad that he wasn't allowed to go, because that meant that he'd be alone.

He contemplated watching the kickball game, but decided against it. Quietly, he hummed to himself as he stared up at the sky. He leaned back and rested the back of his head against his hands.

"Why are you on the roof?" called a young, feminine voice.

Sighing to himself, Grant craned his neck to see who had ruined his moment of peace. It was an eight-year-old girl with olive skin and short, brunette hair. She wore a blue t-shirt and jean shorts. She was on the other side of the fence, meaning she was one of the orphans. If he had to guess, he'd say she was about eight.

"I like the roof," he replied.

"Why? Why not hang out with your family?"

Grant's eyes narrowed at the young girl. He hadn't even known her for more than a minute and he was close to punching something.

"I like it better up here."

"You should hang out with your family."

Grant's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. He breathed in deeply before exhaling. "Can you please just drop the subject?"

The girl nodded. "What's your name?"

"Grant Ward. What's yours?"

"That's a cool name. My name's Skye."

Figuring it would be rude to continue facing away from her, Grant turned fully toward her, legs dangling off the edge as he stared down. "That's a nice name."

The girl giggled before asking, "Isn't it scary sitting up there?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, actually more comfortable if anything."

"You're skinny," blurted the girl.

Grant snorted at that. She couldn't stop changing the subject could she? "I am."

"Why are you so skinny? I've seen skinny boys at the orphanage, but you're skinnier."

Grant shrugged as if he had no idea. In reality, he really did not want to talk about his family problems with some random girl who just so happened to decide to talk to him. He heard the nuns calling the children inside. The girl frowned before looking back up at him.

"I have to go. See you again soon?"

Grant stared at her for several seconds. Did he want to talk to her again? She was just some random girl. A stranger. Then again, the only way someone became your friend was if they're a stranger first. And in all honesty, he figured a friend might be a good idea. "Sure."

The girl smiled before turning around and running back to the nuns. He watched her go before deciding to head in. Opening the back door, he slide inside. Popping open a water bottle, he hopped on the counter and drank. For the first time in years, he felt the corners of his lips tug up into a small smile. That girl was interesting to say the least.

* * *

 **AN: Hey guys! This fanfiction was inspired by _Over the Fence_ by ****alexthelion-ess. As the story progresses, the chapters will get longer. This is more of an introduction than anything. There will be flashback chapters, as well as present time chapters. The flashback chapters will focus on Grant's childhood, while the present time chapters will focus on the current events in Grant's life. Let me know what you guys think in the reviews!**


	2. Hoodie

His hoodie was always his favorite piece of clothing. It protected him against the cold and hid the beatings he received. It was a Wednesday evening and Grant found himself leaning against the fence. He hadn't seen Skye since Friday and to be honest she had been pushed to the back of his mind after his family got back on Monday. He had gotten a B on his mom's test on Tuesday, which of course wasn't good enough because everyone in the family had to be perfect. He had received a beating with his father's belt and was to be deprived of food for the remainder of today and tomorrow. It had hurt like a bitch but he was happy that he hadn't been locked in the closet. It had happened a few times, and it was one of Grant's least favorite forms of punishment. He growled lightly. What kind of kid had a favorite form of punishment? Thankfully, his parents never bothered to check on him once he made his way outside. Christian was also ignoring him for now.

The thing about a hoodie was that when it was hot out, he was burning. Sadly, it was pretty warm out today. He ignored the glistening perspiration dripping down his face.

"Grant?" called Skye's voice from the other side of the fence.

He didn't answer at first, instead choosing to cover more of his face with his hood. He gazed up at the sky, trying to block everything out except the vast, cloudy space above him.

"Grant?" came Skye's voice again. This time, her head poked over the fence. She caught sight of him leaning against it.

"Hey."

"Why are you leaning against the fence?"

He shrugged in reply, the hoodie masking his bruises, cuts, and sweat. He was hungry, but he didn't let himself dwell on the thought. He'd gone longer without food. It was only a problem if he made it one.

"Why are you wearing a hoodie?" she asked curiously.

"I like wearing hoodies."

"Yeah, but it's really hot out. Aren't you hot in that?"

"No," he lied.

"I'm wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and I'm pretty warm. You're seriously not hot?"

"I'm seriously not hot," he confirmed, keeping his head down as he threaded his fingers through his hair.

"What's your favorite color?"

He smiled faintly. She really was a curious one. "I don't really have one."

She frowned. "Everyone has a favorite color silly."

Sighing internally, he responded, "Yeah? Then what's yours?"

"Blue," giggled Skye. "The lighter blue reminds me of the sky, hence my name!"

"That's cool. I've always liked the sky too."

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Grant talked constantly with Skye. They had become fast friends, which was something that surprised Ward. He had grown to despise most people, but Skye always made him happy. She was frustratingly nosy though. She always asked him why he wore a sweatshirt when it was hot out. Despite successfully dodging the question each time it was asked, she always brought it up the next time they saw each other. His home life remained the same; do something below expectation, get abused for it.

"Grant?" asked Skye one day.

They were currently talking to each other over the fence, Skye using a chair to peek over.

"Yeah?"

"How come I've never met your parents?"

"They don't like coming outside," he lied.

She frowned at him. "Then why don't I just come inside and meet them?"

Grant froze at her response. There was no way in hell his parents were ever going to find out about Skye. "That's not really a good idea."  
"Why not?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, just drop it okay? Please?"

She contemplated it for a few moments before nodding reluctantly. "Okay."

"Good. Want to tell me about your day at school?"

Her forehead scrunched up. "School is so boring. Mr. Reed gave us so much math homework," she grumbled.

"How much?"

"Like twenty problems," she pouted.

"That's not a lot," he laughed quietly.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Yes it is. Math homework shouldn't exist."

He snorted in agreement. Math was one of his worst subjects, and his mother was never happy when he missed too many questions on his homework.

* * *

"Grant?" she asked another day.

"Yes?" He was always happy to answer her questions. She had a way of calming him down when looking at the sky failed.

"Have you decided what your favorite color is?"

He had thought about it whenever he looked at the stars. He could see why she loved the color blue, the sky was mesmerizing. It wasn't his favorite color though. To be honest, he wasn't exactly sure what was, but he had a pretty good idea. "Yes."

"What is it?"

"Red," he answered.

It felt good to finally have an answer to her question. It was something so simple, but had bothered him greatly ever since the first time she had asked him. Wasn't everyone supposed to have a favorite color?

"Like bright red or dark red?"

He thought about it a moment before responding, "Dark. Bright's too noticeable."

"Wouldn't someone coming from a rich family want to be noticed?" she asked.

He stiffened at her words, but couldn't find it within himself to take out his anger on her. She had no idea what he'd been through, and he had no intention of her ever finding out. They'd never argued once since he'd met her, and he wasn't about to be the one who started their first. "I don't want to be noticed."

* * *

 **AN: Yep, two updates in one day. I'm busting this out because I actually have about ten chapters already done for this fanfic. The chapters get longer, so don't worry. Also, next up is a present day chapter. Please leave a review and let me know if you enjoyed!**


	3. Agent in Training

"Fifteen more, Grant!" barked the slim redhead next to him.

He grumbled in response as his body throbbed in agony. He pushed through the pain, blocking it out completely as he continued the rhythmatic pace of his pushups. Body glistening with sweat, he continued on.

"One hundred! Nice work! Ten more to go!"

When he finished, he shakily made his way to his feet, using the wall for support. One of his supervising officers tossed him a towel and a water bottle. His 'thank you' came in the form of a grumble as he sipped on the water while dabbing his face with the towel.

"Great work today Grant," commented the woman. "It's only been a month and you're improving at a rapid pace."

He didn't even grin at the compliment. He was never happy about anything, ever. He hadn't laughed or even cracked a smile once since that day almost two years ago. A Specialist didn't need to be happy. Still, he said a quiet "thank you" before excusing himself, making his way to his room at the Triskelion.

He shut the door behind him, collapsing to the ground as he leaned against his bed. He sipped his water, staring absentmindedly at the wall. He appreciated everyone's efforts to make him feel at home, he really did. But he just couldn't bring himself to join in on any conversations or act like a human being. The only thing that brought some feeling into his heart was Buddy, who always waited patiently for Grant to get done with training every day.

* * *

Sighing, Natasha walked into one of many weapons training rooms at the Triskelion, this one being reserved for Clint. Her friend was already waiting, sitting on top of a crate, bow resting in his lap.

"Hey Nat," greeted Clint.

"Hey. How's Grant's progress on marksmanship?"

Clint smiled. "He's doing great. Seems that he's pretty much a natural. Almost as good as I was when I started."

"That's good news. Director Fury says that once his training progresses, he has something planned for us."

Clint's smile turned into a frown. "Did he tell you what it was?"

Natasha smiled ruefully. "He's the leader of the biggest spy organization of all time, of course he didn't tell me what it was."

Her partner shrugged his shoulders. "So how's his strength, endurance, and combat training going?"

"Remarkable. He's taking everything I give him, pushing through it. It's like he's been taught S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most important lesson already. He doesn't allow himself to feel the pain. He's so determined, nothing gets him off track. I wouldn't be surprised if he was combat ready a lot sooner than most."

Clint's gaze snapped from his bow to her. "Doesn't that bother you?" he asked quietly.

Natasha's brows furrowed. "Doesn't what bother me?"

"The fact that he's so determined that he won't even let himself feel pain. I've never seen anything like it before. He's even more focused than you were after I rescued you."

"Why should it bother me? Isn't that a good thing?"

"Normally, I'd say yes. But he's walking around like a zombie or something. It's like you tell him what to do and he goes all 'blahhhhh brains' on you," said Clint, imitating a zombie as he stuck his hands forward and titled his head to the side.

"What are you getting at?" asked Natasha.

"I'm getting at the fact that he doesn't seem to be able to feel anything, Nat," explained Clint. "He knows what's going on around him but he's like disconnected or something. Depression maybe?"

Natasha's eyes widened as she finally grasped what he was saying. "So how do we help him?"

Clint sighed in exasperation. "I've no idea, Nat. I've no idea."

* * *

"Come on, Grant, direct the gun so you're out of the line of fire and twist the wrist," commanded Natasha, trying to teach him a variety of ways to disarm an attacker.

Huffing in concentration, Grant repeated the move, expecting to fail again. To his surprise, he actually executed the technique.

"Nice," congratulated Natasha.

He smiled weakly. Suddenly, her other hand shot out with another fake gun. His muscle memory kicked in and her other gun was instantly in his hand. Her smile widened.

"Great reflexes. Your training is coming along nicely."

"Thanks," mumbled Grant, grabbing a water bottle.

"I mean it Grant, you should be proud of yourself."

He shrugged in response. He wasn't proud of anything. He was just doing what was asked of him, just like he did with every person in his life. His parents, his older brother, Skye.

"In fact, I'm inclined to say you're working too hard," prodded his female S.O.

He grumbled, trying to escape this conversation. He knew it would happen eventually, but was hoping against all hope his supervising officers would just leave it alone. "I'm not taking a break," asserted Grant, his voice firm.

She frowned at him. "Why not? You certainly deserve a day off."

Grant took a sip of his water. "No time for a day off. If you want something done, you have to get it done. I want to be a Specialist, so I'm going to become one. That's not going to happen if I slack off."

"I hope you're okay with me asking, but what made you decide to become a Specialist so fast? You're so young," commented Natasha.

"So are you," retorted Grant.

"Yes, but I already told you all about my past with the KGB and how Clint rescued me from the Red Room and brought me back to S.H.I.E.L.D. These people are my family, I want to protect them. You haven't told me or Clint about why you want to be here or why we found you the way we did."

"Does it matter? S.H.I.E.L.D.'s getting another young weapon," countered Grant.

Natasha spoke softly. "Yes, it does matter, Grant. Me and Clint, we care about you."

He gulped. He should have expected as much. He didn't like when people said they cared about him. It never ended well. He always got sucked in, thought he could trust them, only for it to turn out bad and leave him in ruins at the end. Still, he felt like he owed her a semi-explanation for everything she'd done for him. "I want to be a Specialist because I want to be the best of the best at protecting people. Field agents are good yeah, but I want to be better than good. I need to be better than good if I want to protect people, like I couldn't before. So, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading to my room."

"Grant, wait! What do you mean when you say you couldn't before?" called Natasha, but he was already out the door.

* * *

Before he knew what was happening, he was in his room, chest heaving. He'd said more than he ever had before. To anyone. He was warming up to her and Clint and it scared him. What if they turned out to be just like his parents? He dismissed the thought quickly. They seemed like good people, like they really, truly cared about him. But he had been hurt before. By his mother and father, by his brother, by the one person he thought would never leave his side. He was in a predicament. If he didn't let them in, he'd never know if their intentions were genuine. But he'd only ever been hurt from letting people in. Sighing, he recounted the thoughts of his ten-year-old self.

 _The only way someone became your friend was if they're a stranger first. And in all honesty, a friend might be a good idea._

* * *

 **AN: This is the first present day chapter, so let me know what you think. I will probably update the story again later tonight. This is kind of my way of showing how Grant should have been treated in the show. He needed someone to help him, not treat him like shit. And poof, mama and papa bear Tasha and Clint popped into my head as the perfect candidates. So, they are Grant's supervising officers, not Garrett.**


	4. What You Meant To Me

_**Flashback**_

It had been two years since they met. Grant Douglas Ward and Skye. He was her best friend and she was, quite frankly, his only friend. It didn't matter to him, as long as he had Skye he didn't need anybody else. His conditions at home had been getting worse, especially since after the well. Skye had noticed his change in attitude and his attempts to conceal himself as much as he could.

He never got angry at her. His temper hadn't changed that drastically, but he was quieter than before. Before, he'd always exchange jokes with Skye and add more to the conversation. Lately, he was more content with just listening to her. Because of her nature, Skye refused to acknowledge his attempts to get her to stop asking about his change in attitude. Each time she asked him, she grew closer and closer to finding out the truth. He was always on edge whenever she broached the subject. His fingers were pretty much always twitching lately. He didn't know why, but he couldn't get it to stop. He had no idea what he was going to do when she found out.

And one weekend, his fear came true.

He was relaxing on his roof when he felt her presence. She always came over on the weekends nowadays. They'd watch a movie, swim in the nice pool in his backyard, or stare up at the sky. The nuns approved of their relationship, always saying goodbye to Skye before she joined him. They were glad that Skye, the orphan who people kept sending back, had found a seemingly permanent friend. Guilt weighed on his chest at the fact that she told him everything about her life, but she knew almost nothing about his. He had told her who each of his family members were, but never about the abuse. He told her what others thought they knew. He told her about how it was a loving, perfect family. He was hoping that had been enough to convince her to back off, but it wasn't.

He glanced at her as she climbed onto the roof. "Hey Skye."

The ten-year-old folded her arms, huffing at him. "Don't 'hey Skye' me."

She really was angry. Would this be their first big fight? Was she angry at him or at something else? "What did I do?"

"Grant Douglas Ward, are you being abused?"

His mouth dropped open in shock. His mind raised a thousand miles a minute. _How? Why? What?_

"Answer the question!"

He averted his gaze, mind still reeling. What was she going to do? Was she going to tell someone? Oh God, if she did, not only would he most likely be beaten to death with a poker, but his parents would probably take her and beat her senseless. He couldn't let that happen.

"Grant, you have three seconds. Three, two-"

"Yes," blurted Grant, hugging his knees to his chest in shame.

He was so dead. She was going to tell someone and then he was going to be bludgeoned to death and she was going to be in danger. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Would she call him weak? Laugh at the fact that he couldn't defend himself?

"Oh Grant," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer.

He froze in her embrace, not sure how to react. He tensed when he felt her hands rub small circles into his lower back. _Mother used to do that. She'd make me think I was safe before she'd hurt me._

"Hey, hey, it's okay Grant. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe with me," she soothed. "Everything's going to be fine. We'll deal with this. Together. 'Cause we're best friends."

He nodded slowly, burying his head in the crook of her neck. She ran her hands through his hair and he wanted to pull back. _Mother used to do that too._ But he couldn't. Because this was Skye. She was his comfort, the only person he could rely on.

She was a pillow to cry on. She was the laughter that filled his empty days. She was the light in his darkness. She was his best and only friend. She was the only person he trusted.

She meant all of that to him.

She was the only one that would never walk away.

 _Right?_

* * *

"We have to tell somebody," said Skye, sometime later.

Grant shot out of her hug, scrambling away. "No, no, no. They'd force me to say it was all a lie before killing me. And then once they find out who talked, they'll do things to you. And then they'll kill you too." He was hyperventilating.

"But Grant, they wouldn't be able to get to you if they're in jail," said Skye softly.

He laughed dryly. "They'd find some way out. They have money. Power. I wouldn't be surprised if my dad had the entire prison staff under his wing. Probably more than a few people in court too."

"So what do we do?" she asked, her forehead creasing as she thought.

"Nothing," he whispered.

She stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. "Grant we have to do something. They can't keep abusing you like this."

He shook his head. "They can and they will. It's best you not get involved with them. I'll take the beatings, okay? I'll be fine," he insisted.

She bit a fingernail in frustration. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

He swallowed, scared she might run off after what he was about to ask her. "No, but maybe afterwards, you know, after the punishments, I could…talk to you about it?" His shoulders sagged forward as he watched her, waiting for her to run off on him. But it never happened.

She sighed unhappily. "If that's the only thing you'll let me do for you, then yes. I'll listen to every word."

He was shocked at how willing she was to listen to him. He was right, Skye would never abandon him. Every time something happened, he was always worried that she would run off. But she never did. She kept proving to him that she would always be there. He honestly didn't know why he was so shocked. "Thank you."

"Grant?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"When did it start?"

He winced, recalling a specific memory. "Five."

Skye maintained a calm expression, although he could tell she was struggling not to breakdown. "What happened?"

"Mom said that instead of going to kindergarten like the normal kids, I was going to be home-schooled. I didn't want that. I wanted to be like the normal kids and have friends and eat lunch at the tables. She said it was better that I be home-schooled at home because then her and dad could keep a better eye on my education. I guess I thought that that meant that they would be teaching me. I was mostly on my own. I'd learn everything I could from what was given to me, but if I didn't answer something correctly, she'd hurt me. The first time was with a hairbrush. I got a few answers wrong in a row and she grabbed it and hit me in the side. Dad watched. He was never usually the person to hit me. It was usually mom. Dad just wouldn't do anything. He'd drink and watch."

* * *

 **AN: Here's the next chapter. I'll be updating again once or twice tomorrow. Let me know what you think in the reviews! Also, thank you to everyone who already leaves them, they're the reason I enjoy updating this so frequently.**


	5. Field Training

"We'll be with you the whole time," assured Clint over comms.

Grant entered the clothes store, spotting Natasha perusing the aisles. Clint was perched on a building across the street, sniper trained on the store in case things went south.

"Mission is a go. Approach the target," Clint's voice crackled in his ear.

Currently, they were in Florida to retrieve intelligence on a possible drug trafficking ring. This was his first mission out in the field, but he wasn't nervous. He had been thrust into the field earlier than pretty much every other recruit. He had only been training for six months. Not to brag, but he was better than everyone else in the new recruitment batch. He had to give some of the credit to Natasha and Clint because, damn, they were good. He was still closed off around them and they still had a tentative relationship, but they were the best of the best for a reason.

He approached the target, the man behind the register. Ward needed to get a combination from him. Brute force and intimidation were always a possibility, but this was supposed to be a stealth op. Slip in, slip out.

"Hello," spoke Ward, making sure he didn't sound suspicious.

The man smiled at him. "What can I do for you today?"

Ward leaned forward, whispering the code words. "I want to see Adrian."

The man stiffened slightly before answering in a low voice. "Are you, by any chance, Mister Solomon?"

Ward pulled out identification and handed it to the man. "Indeed."

The man examined it momentarily before a satisfied smile appeared on his face. "The combo is 0-38-54." He handed Ward back the identification. "Take the stairs behind me. First room to your left."

"Thank you," said Ward, smiling.

Ward entered the stairwell, making his way upstairs. He was cautious but forced his facial features to look relaxed. Entering the room, he looked around. Finally, he caught sight of the safe in a dark corner. He bent down and spun the dial, entering the combination. The safe popped open and Ward pulled out a flash drive.

"I got the drive," he whispered.

"Ward, get out of there," said Natasha.

"I am," he replied, shutting the door to the safe. "What's the problem?"

"Intel was off," responded Clint. "Mister Solomon wasn't supposed to show up until tomorrow, but he just entered the building. He's heading upstairs with guards."

"I can't use the window in this room. Too big of a fall."

"One second," was Clint's reply.

The footsteps increased in volume, moving closer.

"Guys…"

"Got it," said the archer. "Make your way down the hall and turn right. There's a master bedroom with a balcony. Dumpster below. You should be able to make it."

The footsteps were right outside the door. Grumbling to himself, Ward hid in the shadows, waiting for the door to open. Finally, it was kicked down as five men with handguns entered the room, single file. Mister Solomon stepped in behind them. The second they stepped through, he slipped out. Making his way down the hall, he heard a shout behind him. Gunfire erupted and Ward ducked his head, turning right. A guard was waiting for him and Ward sprang into action, holding the man's gun hand to the wall as he grabbed the side of the man's face with his other hand. He slammed his head into the wall twice before he felt the man go unconscious.

Suddenly, a brute was on him, the other guards making their way toward his position. The brute tackled him through the door to the master bedroom. With a loud grunt, he got to his feet before his assailant could pounce on him again. The man's fist flew at his face and he barely had the time to duck. Lashing out, he punched the man square in the jaw. The guy's head snapped back but he quickly recovered, grabbing him with one meaty hand. Smiling to himself, Ward grasped the outstretched wrist and twisted. He only had a few seconds before the man was on him again. The guy looked pissed off.

He felt his legs leave the ground as he was rammed into a wall. _Shit._ Ignoring the searing pain and slightly blurry vision, he concentrated. Glancing quickly at the kitchen counter, he spotted a glass blender. He shoved his thumb into the man's left eye, distracting him long enough to grab the blender. Violently, he smashed it against his assailant's head. The man let him go with a shriek. This time, Ward was the one pouncing. Before the shithead could recover, he was shoved through the glass doors leading to the balcony. He slipped on the glass pieces and fell. Ward raised his fist and pounded on the man, who was unable to raise his hands to defend. He punched and punched and punched until the man went slack.

The sound of gunfire woke him from his rage. He rolled to the side, several bullets barely missing him. He turned, sprinting to the edge of the balcony as the guards shouted and fired. He jumped. Landing in the dumpster, Ward felt his side explode in pain. Groaning, he got to his feet. Looking down the street, he caught a shocking sight. As people scattered, he noticed a familiar olive skinned woman with shoulder-length brunette hair watching the building. He stumbled forward. _Skye?_ He wanted to call out, but her name came out as a hoarse sound.

"Grant, you need to get a move on. Now!" commanded Natasha.

He woke from his stupor and turned around after one last glance, sprinting in the opposite direction. He maintained a passive expression as he ran, but his head and side hurt so badly. His body felt like it was on fire as he pumped his arms. _Skye. Skye. Skye. I must be hallucinating. It wasn't real. Why would she be here? It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Maybe I have a concussion or something._ He slipped through the crowds, heading toward extraction, flash drive in pocket.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry about the short chapter, but you can definitely expect another update tonight. Time has passed since the first present day chapter as not all of them will be chronological. The next chapter is a direct continuation of this one. Thank you for all the nice reviews, and please keep them coming!**

 **In response to Gatemaster: I'm actually not quite sure how skilled Skye is going to be when Ward meets her again. One thing is for sure, she won't be anywhere near S.H.I.E.L.D. level training. Also, since this is an AU take, all characters are going to be slightly younger than their TV counterparts.**


	6. The Truth Is Out

Ward exited the debrief with blurry vision and a weakness in his knees. He passed through the halls, ignoring the constant whispering around him. He rotated his shoulder as he stumbled toward the med lab. Breathing deeply, he tried to funnel out the pain. It seemed to be working for the moment, but he had to lean against the wall for support, his other hand clutching his side.

"Ward! Ward!" a voice called from across the hall.

He couldn't recognize it. Everything was disoriented. He slumped forward and would have crashed to the ground if it weren't for a pair of very familiar muscular arms catching him. He blinked as Clint's face came into his line of sight. His expression was one of worry, lines in his forehead and eyebrows scrunched together. Clint spoke gently as he supported him throughout the hall. "Hey. Hey. Easy there, Grant. We're almost to the sick bay. You'll be fine, alright? Just keep going for a little longer."

As they sat him on the table, he was vaguely aware of the shouts and orders of the doctors and nurses around him. His eyes scanned the area, a sudden anxiety taking over him.

"Two fractured ribs. Minor head trauma. Start patching him up," commanded a doctor.

Ward felt something wrap around him as multiple people worked. His eyes briefly caught sight of Natasha. She was in the corner, arms folded, watching with a concerned gaze. Vision swimming, he saw Clint pulling away. He caught the older man's wrist.

"It's okay Grant. I'm right here," whispered Clint. "You'll be fine. You did good Rookie."

 _Rookie. Nice nickname._ "I saw…"

Clint frowned. "What did you see?"

"I saw…her," whispered Grant. He began to talk frantically, a feeling of hysteria welling deep inside. "I saw her. I saw her. I did. I know I did. It was real. It was real. It was real."

Clint held onto the other man, speaking in a gentle tone. "Who, Grant? Who was it?"

"Skye…"

The darkness overcame him.

* * *

 _When he was thirteen, Grant sat at home on a Friday night. A bowl of popcorn sat next to him on the couch as he watched television. Skye was at a new foster home, had been for two weeks. He missed her. Her comfort. Her hilarious antics. Every time she went with a new foster home, he was always worried that she would never come back. He knew it was selfish, especially because she deserved happiness, but he was scared that she might never come back to him again. Cradling his head in one hand, he held an icepack to the side of his head, where his mother had hit him twice with his Biology textbook. He sunk his hand into the bowl, pulling out a handful and eating it. He sighed to himself as he tried to get comfortable._

 _He wondered how Skye was. Was she happy? Did she like her home? Did she hate it? Did she miss him? Was she doing alright in school? Did she have any new siblings? Were her new foster parents nice? Were they hurting her? Oh God, what if they were hitting her like his parents hit him? What if they looked her in a closet for days? What if they didn't feed her?_

 _His musings were disrupted by an insistent banging on the slider door to his backyard. Curiously, he set his icepack down and placed the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. He was always cautious when his parents weren't home. No one should be knocking on his backdoor, especially at ten at night. Making his way to the kitchen, he grasped a small knife just in case. The thumping increased in urgency. Knife hidden by his side, he slowly slid the tinted glass open._

 _Skye stared back at him with wild eyes, scared and disoriented. Her backpack was slung around one shoulder. She looked like complete shit. Her face was bright red and bruised and tears streamed down her face. Her blue t-shirt was wrinkly and her jeans were cut open. Underneath, her knees were red and covered in mud. She caught sight of the knife and her eyes widened._

 _Swearing, he set the knife on the counter as he ushered Skye in, shutting the door behind her. The second he turned around, her head was buried in his chest, sobs racking her body. She pulled him tight, refusing to let him go. He ran his hands soothingly through her hair as he hugged her back._

" _Skye? What happened?" he whispered gently, wiping a tear away with his thumb._

 _She was hiccuping as she tried to stop crying._

" _Sh," he whispered repeatedly, trying to get her to calm down. "You're fine Skye. You're safe. I'm here. What happened?"_

 _She nodded as she stammered. "I-I ran. The woman, Pat, was nice. S-so was the little boy. But the man, he-he seemed nice. I accidentally made him mad today and he slapped me…hard. He did it a few times until I could run upstairs. I packed my…my stuff and climbed out the window."_

 _He held her, running his hands through her hair. He pulled her closer, his arms wrapped protectively around her. "You're safe Skye."_

" _I know," she mumbled, sighing into his chest._

" _Do you have pajamas with you?" he asked._

 _She nodded again. "I grabbed everything that I had at the house."_

" _Okay, would you like to take a shower?"_

" _Yes," she said softly._

" _Okay, come on."_

 _He guided her upstairs, arm wrapped securely around her waist. Stopping at a door in the hallway, he opened it. "There's some shampoo and soap in there, as well as a few towels. When you're done, I'll be downstairs, okay?"_

 _She nodded and entered the bathroom, shutting it behind her. As he turned around, he heard her call from the other side of the door. "Grant?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _Thank you."_

" _Don't worry about it, we're friends. We take care of each other."_

 _He sat on the couch and let out a stressed huff. What could he do? He wasn't good at comforting people. The only person he ever really talked to was Skye, and she had never needed comforting on this level. She had never been hit before. This was the first time. He sighed. He'd just have to go with whatever felt right in his gut._

 _Approximately sixteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, yes he counted, that's how much he cared about her, she descended the staircase, red pajamas on. She set her backpack on the table and sat next to him, resting her head in his lap. "Can we cuddle?" she asked nervously._

 _He had never cuddled before, but he nodded all the same. Then, she asked her next question, and he felt terrified._

" _Can we cuddle in your bed?" she whispered, completely unsure of herself._

 _He knew it was just cuddling, he wasn't stupid, but Jesus Christ he was a boy and this was really embarrassing. But one look at her and his resolve instantly crumbled._

" _I'll take us upstairs," he said._

 _She nodded, grabbing her backpack as he picked her up bridal style. Making sure everything in the house was locked, he carried her upstairs before gently setting her on his bed. He took her backpack from her grasp and set it on the floor. He climbed in before pulling the covers up to their chests. He lay flat on his back as Skye switched positions so she was on her side. He moved his arm up slightly as she rested her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close._

* * *

When Ward awoke, he maintained the impression he was sleeping, just like he was taught. He struggled to remember where he was. He remembered being slammed into a wall, a scuffle, jumping, and… _Skye?_ He felt the soft sheets underneath his palms. _Must be in the sick bay,_ he thought, relieved. He felt a hand gently placed on top of his.

"Grant, we know you're awake," whispered Natasha.

He opened his eyes and a smile forced its way onto his lips at the sight of two familiar faces. "Hey."

Clint smirked. "Hey Rookie. You took a beating. How you feeling?"

Ward rolled his eyes. "Like shit."

Natasha cleared her throat. "Grant?"

He turned to face her. She had a curious expression on her face as she gazed down at him. He answered. "Yeah?"

Taking a deep breath, she let out a question that he did not want to hear. "Who's Skye?"

* * *

 **AN: I decided to update now, since I couldn't wait until tonight. I may end up posting a third chapter tonight because I'm pumping this story out. Next chapter we get to see why Grant ran away. It's also one of the reasons this story is rated M. I will put a trigger warning at the top of the next chapter just so you guys know. Let me know what you think as usual!**


	7. Long Past Due

**AN: Trigger warning for suicide attempt in the flashback.**

* * *

Sighing, he sat up to rub his eyes. "I guess I owe you both an explanation on my childhood."

Clint snorted. "It would be appreciated."

"Where do you want me to start?" asked Grant. "Because I'm not sure myself."

Natasha placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Start wherever you feel is necessary," she said gently.

Taking a deep breath, Grant glanced between the two of them before telling his story. "It started when I was five. Mom and dad said that I was going to be homeschooled instead of going to school like the normal kids. I thought that maybe they just wanted to help me with my education more, you know? That wasn't the case. When I didn't get something right mother would hit me." Clint and Natasha listened intently but remained silent, which he was thankful for. He didn't know if he could continue if he was interrupted. "It wasn't so bad at first, just smacks and a few punches. The next thing I knew she was locking me in closets and not letting me eat for days at a time. Dad wouldn't lift a finger against her, he just drowned himself in alcohol. And this went on every day. When I was ten years old, I met a girl named Skye. She lived at the orphanage next door. I liked to hang out on the rooftop whenever I could. I still remember when I met her. Friday, March 12th. I was up there, thinking about my life and reflecting, you know. It sounds so stupid but I did it a lot. I remember the first thing she ever said to me: 'Why are you on the roof?'" He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "I disliked her at first because she was nosy and annoying. We grew attached pretty quickly though. She's the one that got me to see the simple things in life. She's the one that told me having a favorite color is important. She's the one that told me everyone was unique and special. I guess she was special to me. Every time she left to go to a new foster home, I was scared she wouldn't come back. We went swimming and watched movies and TV together on the weekends. My parents left every Friday morning before I woke up and wouldn't get back until Monday. So we spent every moment of the weekend with each other."

He continued, swallowing thickly. "Over time, my older brother, Christian, started making me beat up our younger brother, Thomas. I hated it. I didn't want to do it. But Christian was so cruel that I knew I couldn't let him get his hands on Thomas. It escalated one day when Christian made me push Thomas into the well." Tears were spilling over, but he wiped them away quickly out of embarrassment. "H-he was begging me to help him, but Christian…he wouldn't let me. Right before he could drown, I managed to throw him the rope. He got out, thank God, he got out. Weeks later, Skye found out I was being abused. She wanted to tell somebody, but then my family would just get her too. She was there for me for everything after that, even all of my hard problems. I was there for her too, especially when she was hit for the first time by one of her foster parents. I thought she would never leave me, you know? That she'd always be there for me." He was crying now, head buried in his hands.

Natasha was crying silently too, squeezing Grant's shoulder.

Clint looked on with an understanding glint in his eyes. "Until she wasn't," he whispered softly.

Grant nodded sorrowfully. "Until she wasn't," he confirmed.

"What happened, Rookie?" asked Clint.

* * *

 _Sixteen-year-old Grant Ward walked through the rain as he approached Skye's new foster home at seven at night. She had been there for three weeks now, and they had kept in contact via phone calls. Today, she wasn't answering his calls and Grant needed her more now than ever._

 _His younger sister, Rosie, had tried to kill herself that day. His parents had ordered him to go upstairs to get his sister down for lunch. Being the good little soldier he was, he got up from the table and walked upstairs. He had knocked on her door, calling her name. When he received no answer, he tried the door to find it locked. Using all of his strength, he had kicked the damn thing down. He hadn't been prepared for the sight. Rosie was laying on her bed peaceful looking, her hair strewn around her head like the angel she was. Except blood was everywhere. The walls. The sheets. He saw the knife by her hand. He screamed for his parents and they came running._

 _Somehow, his parents blamed it on him. Because everything was his fault. They covered up the suicide attempt as best they could and wouldn't let him anywhere near her, so he had left the hospital to visit Skye. He wasn't prepared for what he saw there either. When he stepped onto the driveway, he spotted her on the porch. She was relaxing with her boyfriend, Miles, who Grant highly disliked. The guy was a jerkwad who didn't deserve Skye. Plus, he was jealous because he had a crush on Skye. They had practically grown up together so it was either they started dating or became like siblings. Skye treated him as her older brother, while Grant loved her._

" _Grant?" she called from the porch, wearing a blue tank top and white short shorts. She got up and made her way toward him with a scowl on her face. Oh great, he thought, why's she scowling? "What are you doing here?"_

" _You weren't answering my calls and I-" he started, but she cut him off._

" _Did you think there might be a reason I wasn't answering?" she snapped. "I'm with my boyfriend."_

 _Where the hell did that come from? "I-I needed to talk to you," he tried again._

" _It can wait," she said angrily. "Now please leave."_

 _What in the hell? His heart broke slightly at her cruelness. This was even worse than Christian. "Why are you mad?"_

" _Because you shouldn't be here. I didn't answer your calls for a reason." She was glaring at him now._

 _His eyes roamed the porch and he caught sight of the alcohol Miles was pulling out while waiting for Skye to return. His eyebrows scrunched up. "You've got to be kidding, Skye! You're telling me to leave because you're going underage drinking with your boyfriend? Do you know how bad that is for you?"_

 _She scoffed at him before replying furiously. "Oh stop it Grant. Stop acting like you're my brother! Because you're not! You don't get to tell me what to do and what not to do with my own boyfriend. Now leave. Miles and I don't need your constant input on everything! So just leave us alone!" She jabbed a finger into his chest before walking back to the porch._

 _That was the moment he realized just how cruel the world really was. The moment his best friend of six years, the one who grew up with him through everything, turned her back when he needed her the most._

 _Steeling himself until he swallowed all of his emotions, he turned around and walked away, hands in his pockets and a blank expression on his face._

 _He disappeared before the next morning._

* * *

"And that's how you found me almost two years later. I made my way to the woods where I met Buddy, who followed me around. I eventually took him in and started raiding cabins for supplies and food," concluded Grant, his eyes glazed and puffy.

Natasha wrapped her arms around him, careful to avoid his injuries, and spoke softly. "Well, you have us now. And we're not gonna let you go. So get used to it. Right Clint?" When she didn't receive an answer, her and Grant turned to see him staring straight ahead, eyebrows furrowed and a scowl on his face. "Clint?"

"That bitch!" blurted the archer suddenly. "Oh, I swear to God I'm gonna lock her in The Fridge for what she did to you!"

Natasha was the first to laugh, followed by Clint, and then finally joined by Grant.

* * *

 **AN: So, this chapter finally gives the reason for Grant running away. It is also the beginning of Grant starting to ease up with Clint and Natasha. In all honesty, I kind of drew inspiration for this chapter's Skye from season two. While it might not be a shared opinion, I highly disliked Skye's attitude in season two and used it as a parameter for the flashback part. Thank you guys for all your support!**

 **Alkeni: Thank you for your suggestion. I have no plans for this fanfic to burnout, especially because I have quite a lot of chapters already written. I have a lot of respect for your opinion because I love _A Different Choice_ and _Enough Good Left After All_ , so your continued reviews mean a lot. **

**And, finally, a question. Would you guys like to see a few chapters from Skye's perspective? Or perhaps a separate fanfiction with one-shots of her view?**


	8. First Blood

His first kill came later that year, a week before his nineteenth birthday.

"Grant, you alright up there?" asked Natasha through the comms.

They were currently attempting to stop an assault on a middle school in Scottsdale, Arizona. Clint was protecting the faculty and children downstairs, while Natasha paved a way for him to exit. That meant Grant got to take down everybody on the upper level of the building. And there were a lot of guys. _Fun. So much fun,_ he thought sarcastically as he ducked a punch.

Using the momentum from the duck, he twisted his hips and kicked his opponent in the throat, sending him practically flying backwards. He smirked. _Oh Tasha, thank you for the badass moves._

"Oh yeah, doing great! Real picnic up here!" he replied sarcastically.

He heard Clint laugh in his earpiece. "Atta boy! He's getting a sense of humor, Nat!"

Turning, he caught the punch of another person before twisting his arm. The man cried out in pain and turned slightly, allowing Grant access for a push kick to the knee, which sent him stumbling. He finished off with a knee to the man's jaw. The second he sensed movement to his left, he turned and sidestepped a punch. Grabbing the outstretched arm, he snuck a punch underneath it and into the man's jaw.

"We're almost out," informed Natasha. "You okay?"

"Same as I was two minutes ago," replied Grant, ducking behind a desk to avoid gunfire.

As three pairs of footsteps drew closer, he pressed his hands against the desk and pushed, sending it toppling on its side and toward the unsuspecting assailants. They gave a shout of surprise and Ward was already moving, checking his surroundings for half a second to make sure there was nobody else in the room who could jump him. He knocked the first two out with kicks to the side of the head. The third was scrambling up as fast as he could, but Grant was faster. He flung himself at the man, driving his elbow into his jawline.

He was about to tell his teammates he was done when a punch caught his cheek at lightning fast speed. Stumbling backward, he cleared his head. He saw the next hook coming and ducked, stepping inward to execute a closer attack. However, any thoughts of attack were immediately pushed from his mind as he felt the man's foot make contact with the back of his knee. Grunting, he almost fell forward, but managed to maintain his balance. His leg hurt like hell though. The second he got enough control back to attack, he felt a palm strike the bridge of his nose and the bone shatter. He cursed loudly, blood dripping down his face. The next hook to his cheek sent him crashing into another room. A fist collided with his chest and he heaved as a knee made contact with his groin. Vision swimming and body flaring with pain, he snarled and sent an elbow into his attacker's chin. The man's head snapped back but before Grant could do anything, he found himself being thrown against the wall. He shouted in agony.

He was lifted off the ground, picked up, and thrown again. This time, his stomach collided with the edge of a desk and he groaned. Vaguely, he could hear shouting and curses in his comms. As he heard the attacker move forward, Grant saw his hand was only centimeters away from a pair of scissors. Analyzing the situation, Grant realized it was him or his assailant. He picked his assailant without a second thought. Grabbing the scissors, he whirled around and sliced the man's throat open.

Blood sprayed everywhere as the man sunk to the floor. Staggering backward, he dropped the bloody scissors. They fell to the floor with a dull echo. He stared blankly at the dead body before him. Was he supposed to feel bad? Terrified that he had taken a life? Remorseful maybe? He didn't feel any of those things. It was kill or be killed. It wasn't even an option. He was a damn survivor.

He did feel sick to his stomach though. Because, _Jesus Christ,_ that smell was so disgusting. Blood soaked through his clothes and ran even more readily down his face, arms, and legs. It was so sticky. He couldn't contain it anymore. He turned on the spot, knelt down, and retched. Coughs wracked his shaking body as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Footsteps sped throughout the halls and Grant pulled himself together, grabbing the bloody scissors and aiming them at the doorway. He sighed in relief when it was just Clint and Natasha.

"Clint, Tasha. Thank God," he mumbled, limping toward them.

"What the hell happened, Rookie?" asked Clint, though he pretty much knew already.

"Killed…him," slurred Grant as Natasha wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

"Come on, Grant. S.H.I.E.L.D. evac is waiting outside. We'll get you cleaned up," she said soothingly to change the subject.

All he could do was nod his head as his supervising officers led him out of the building.

* * *

"Am I supposed to feel bad?" blurted Grant later that night as he rested in a hospital bed. "I mean, am I supposed to feel guilty or something?"

Clint stared at him thoughtfully before replying. "You want my honest opinion?"

He nodded. To be honest, Grant was scared that Clint would leave him after finding out he had no qualms about killing someone. _What if they all leave me? What if they think I'm a freak? I mean, I killed someone! I should feel something, right? I know I'm pretty desensitized to everything, but I just sliced someone's throat open! And the only thing I felt was sick because of the smell…_

Clint smiled sadly and roughed a hand through Grant's already messy hair. "I think it was a life or death situation and you did what you had to do. Some people would feel bad if they did what you did, yes, but I'm surprised you even feel anything. After everything you've been through, you still understand the gravity of what you did and how you should feel, even if you can't. I think that counts for a lot. Maybe you hate yourself for not feeling anything, I don't know. But what I do know, Grant, is that I don't feel any different about you. I want you to know that. If I'm being honest, I would much rather you killed him than he killed you. Because if you died, Nat and I would be destroyed."

He reached out and wrapped his arms gently around Grant. Ward stiffened slightly but slowly and naturally relaxed. It took him a few moments before he returned the hug. And before he knew it, his head was buried in Clint's shoulder and he was crying for the first time since he ran away from his parents, from his older brother, from…Skye.

"Oh, scooch over. I want in on the group hug," protested Natasha, wrapping her arms around the both of them.

As his crying subsided, a small smile graced his lips.

* * *

 **AN: Here's another chapter. Let me know what you think in your reviews!**

 **Gatemaster: I understand what you mean, I'll have to see what I can do to maybe incorporate some of your suggestion.**

 **Portnoy SP: I can definitely agree with that last part of your review :)! And don't worry about Grant forgiving Skye right away, because I can assure you that that is not going to happen.**


	9. Time Off

"Yes, yes, yes!" called Natasha triumphantly as she entered the kitchen of the suite they now possessed at the Triskelion.

Because apparently they had those. And Nick Fury had personally assigned them to one two days after his first kill. And he loved it. He had his own room while Clint and Natasha shared the master bedroom. They had a living room and their own training area too, which was cool as shit. Fury had also let them take Buddy with them. When Grant had met him that day, he thought Fury was going to be an unrelenting hardass. Turned out he was a big softie and a sucker for strays. Grant rolled his eyes as he sipped on his orange juice.

"What could you have possibly done already at eight-thirty in the morning, Tasha? Please tell me you didn't spike the new recruits' drinks," joked Grant, rubbing his eyes.

She frowned at him and folded her arms in a mock-offended gesture. "It was two times," she said, sticking her tongue out.

Clint entered the kitchen as she spoke, stretching his arms over his head. "In the past week," he finished for her.

She pouted. "Yeah, but you have to admit they were hilarious. When it was time for training they were all tipsy and falling over themselves."

Clint rolled his eyes, grabbing a box of cereal. For super-spies, they ate a lot like normal people. When Grant first moved in with them, he thought they'd have kale or something for breakfast. "Just because it's hilarious doesn't mean it's appropriate," chastised the archer. The smile on his face gave away the fact that he found it funny himself.

"Anyway, what had you all excited?" asked Grant, taking a bite of his own Apple Jacks.

"I just got out of a meeting with Fury and he said we could take the week off," she said, a smile flashing on her face.

Clint did a double take. "Wait…he actually said we could have time off?"

She batted her eyelashes at him, grinning smugly. "I asked him nicely."

"Tasha…did you threaten the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.?" groaned Grant, bringing the orange juice to his lips.

She smirked, moving to the coffee machine to prepare herself a morning cup. "Little bit."

Clint sighed and gently pressed his forehead against the table. Grant laughed, giving him a playful shove. Natasha plopped down next to them a few moments later.

"Do either of you have any idea what you're going to do?" questioned the Russian, nursing her coffee.

"I have no idea. I heard Stark's gonna be here in two days. Might hang out with him. Until then, I don't have a clue."

Grant's mouth hung open in shock, a smile playing across his lips. "Tony Stark is going to be here? THE Tony Stark?"

Clint chuckled. "Yeah kid, THE Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Also, the guy who flies around in an oversized tin can."

Natasha snorted into her drink.

Grant's grin widened. _Tony Stark. Iron Man. Holy shit. This is so freaking cool._ "Can I meet him?" he asked, eyes shining hopefully.

"We already told him about you. He demanded to meet you," informed Natasha.

Grant's eyes were wide as saucers and he was pretty sure he hadn't been this excited since before Skye's harsh words. "Seriously? Like for real? This is so unbelievably cool!"

"You're an Iron Man fanboy, I'm guessing," snickered Clint.

"Yeah, I mean, how can anyone not be? He's freaking Iron Man!"

"We know a guy who's obsessed with Captain America. You guys could probably argue all day," mentioned Clint.

Grant's eyebrows furrowed. "Cap's awesome too. I don't think I'd argue with whoever you're talking about. They're both like the coolest people in the world."

He turned to look at them, and they both stared at him with mock-hurt expressions. "Next to you guys, of course," he amended, a smile on his face.

"Damn right," smiled the archer, roughing his hair again. Grant prided himself that he didn't have the urge to flinch anymore. "So, what about you? You got any plans?"

 _Well it is my birthday in four days._ But he left that part out. He didn't want a celebration. Instead, he asked Clint something he'd wanted to ask for a while. He was shy all of a sudden, not wanting to sound ridiculous. "Well, actually can you teach me how to-to uh…"

"How to what?" asked Clint, eyebrow raised.

"How to use a bow?" he blurted.

Clint's eyes widened slightly before his expression shifted and he had a smirk on his face, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I have been waiting for like a month for you to ask me that. We'll make an archer out of you yet, Rookie!"

* * *

"Go on, pick one up," encouraged Clint.

Currently, they were standing in Clint's personal shooting range, the walls stacked and crates filled to the brim with varieties of bows.

"There's so many," whispered Grant in awe.

Clint smiled proudly. "Thanks, I like to collect."

Grant perused the bows, taking in each and every variation he possibly could. Clint had crossbows, longbows, compound bows, recurve bows, the whole shebang. Finally, he settled on a wicked looking black compound bow. When he picked it up, he expected it to feel awkward. Instead, it felt like it naturally belonged in his hands. He smiled.

"Good choice, Rookie. That, right there, is an Oneida Kestrel," informed Clint, pointing at the bow. "Thing's a beast."

Grant stared at it in amazement for several moments before nodding to his mentor.

"Alright, kid. See that stuff over there?" asked Clint, pointing at a box in the corner.

"Yeah."

"Grab an arm guard, one of those three finger gloves, and a quiver."

He did as he was told and returned to Clint's side, equipment already on. Nodding in satisfaction, Clint placed twenty-four arrows in his quiver, while explaining, "Now, if you're a hunter, most people carry less arrows, but if we're in a fight, less arrows means more bullets in your brain. And we don't want that. Now, feet need to be around shoulder length apart. You want to form a straight line to your target. One foot in front of the other."

He followed the example set by the more experienced marksman.

"Good, now draw an arrow and nock it, like this," said Clint, demonstrating.

He grabbed an arrow from the quiver and fit it into the arrow rest.

"Now, use three fingers to hold the arrow in place. That's what the three finger glove is for, to protect your fingers from the bowstring. Raise the bow, aim at the center of the target, and release the arrow by relaxing your fingers."

Nodding, he followed Clint's instructions. The arrow lodged itself in the target, but nowhere near the center. Grant's face fell slightly, but he remained determined.

"Hey, good job! Most people wouldn't have even hit the practice dummy on their first try. Let's keep going, kid."

And so, for an hour and a half, they did. Once he adjusted, it turned out he was a rather good archer. He hit the center more often than not and never missed the dummy. By the end of his first lesson, he was grinning like a madman and his arms were aching like crazy.

Clint clapped him on the shoulder, smiling brightly. "You might be better than I was when I first started! Great work today. Wanna continue tomorrow?"

Grant nodded eagerly, moving to set the bow back. His S.O. grabbed his arm before he could. He looked up at Clint and, in that moment, he couldn't help but notice that the archer almost looked like a father watching his son. "Keep it, if you want," he said.

"Seriously?" he asked, looking down at the bow and back at Clint.

Clint laughed. "Seriously, kid. I have hundreds of bows. Plus, it seems you've taken a liking to that one." Grant nodded, eyes shining like a ten-year-old who just got his favorite toy. Clint wrapped an arm around his shoulder and tugged him to the door. "Now come on. Let's see what Nat's up to."

* * *

The next day, Grant found himself woken up by a commotion in the kitchen. Groaning, he rolled off the bed and landed on his feet. Buddy remained curled up at the edge of his bed. He pulled on a white tank top and Nike shorts before exiting his room, not bothering with his hair. As he walked closer to the kitchen, he could hear a very angry voice. Swinging the doors open, he yawned loudly. "What's goin' on?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

As they opened, his body jolted awake at the sight of none other than Director Fury. He stood at attention immediately. Director Fury was facing him, his one eye watching him intently. "Agent Ward," he acknowledged.

"Is there something wrong, sir?"

Fury huffed in annoyance, glaring at Natasha, who Grant just noticed was in the room. "Miss Romanoff here decided to sneak alcohol into the school faculty's morning drinks."

He rolled his eyes. "Tasha, that's three times this week."

Natasha puffed her chest out and crossed her arms. "Actually, that was the first time this week. The other two times were in the students' drinks," she defended.

Fury scowled at her. "I should enforce disciplinary action. I could have you demoted to level one faster than you can say chimichangas."

 _Chimichangas? Where did that come from?_ He grinned at the scene in front of him.

Natasha looked like she was fighting the urge to break out into laughter. "I know, sir. But you won't, sir."

Fury's scowl deepened momentarily before he sighed in exhaustion. He waved his hand dramatically in the air. "Just, I don't know, try not to do it so often."

A grin spread across Natasha's face. "Understood, sir."

The Director turned to exit the room, but not before calling over his shoulder, "You're lucky I show favoritism!"

The door slammed shut.

"Thank you, sir!" shouted Natasha. She turned to look at Grant. "Well, that was a great start to the day."

He rolled his eyes.

* * *

The next evening, when he was watching television, a voice shouted on the other side of the door.

"Where is he?"

"Calm down, Tony!" exclaimed Natasha.

"Yeah, seriously, take a chill pill, Tin Can," grumbled Clint.

The door was thrown open and Tony Stark walked in, flanked by Natasha and Clint. "I have been waiting for weeks to meet…" His eyes fell on Grant, who looked up at him in surprise. "Grant, Grant Ward?" asked Tony, walking up to him and holding his hand out.

Grant nodded, accepting it and giving it a firm shake. "You're…you're Tony Stark."

The man grinned, turning to face Clint. "I like this one."

"It's an honor to meet you, sir."

Tony waved his hand in the air. "I'm not much of a gentleman, so no need to call me sir." He plopped down on the couch next to Grant. "So tell me kid, ever cosplayed outside of Stark Tower?"

Grant's mouth was agape. "Wha-what? I haven't…I've never really been into the city."

Tony chuckled. "Relax, kid. I'm totally teasing. So, what were you watching?"

"Star Wars," answered Grant.

Tony smiled. "A fellow Star Wars fan. I like you even more. Who's your favorite?"

"He was only in it for _The Phantom Menace_ , but I loved Darth Maul. Darth Malgus is pretty sick too."

The billionaire nudged him. "You seem pretty nerdy for a guy who looks like an Abercrombie model."

Grant blushed slightly at the compliment. "Thanks, I think?"

"So," he drawled, "You got a girl?"

In a split-second, Grant's friendly demeanor faded and was replaced by a cold, emotionless exterior. Wrong question. Any joy and excitement at meeting the billionaire was replaced by a feeling of icy emptiness in the pits of his stomach. He stood up abruptly, walking out without another word. Natasha tried to stop him in the doorway, but he gave her a pointed look and she reluctantly let him go.

Tony stared at the doorway, mouth hanging open. "Usually I'm the one that walks away from a conversation. No one has ever walked away from me. I'm a sexy billionaire. What did I do wrong?"

Clint cleared his throat, looking at Tony with a soft expression. "He uh…there was someone, a while ago."

Tasha tugged on his sleeve. "Clint, I don't think he wants us talking about this."

The archer shrugged her off, glancing at her before returning his gaze to Tony. "No, he needs to understand why Grant reacted the way he did. Nobody can help him if nobody knows what he's going through, Nat. How do you expect him to make friends? And besides, Tony would just hack the databases anyway."

Sighing, Natasha fixed him with a death glare. "If Grant gets mad, this is your fault, not mine."

"Duly noted. Now, as I was saying, there was a girl…back when he was a kid."

Tony, still relaxed on the couch, responded. "What happened?"

Clint walked into the kitchen, speaking as he did. "They were best friends, practically inseparable, since he met her when he was ten years old. She was eight. They grew up together, through the good times and the bad."

"Bad?" called Tony.

Clint emerged from the kitchen with three beers, tossing one to Tony and another to Tasha. They each uncapped and took a sip. "Grant's mother was abusive. His father did nothing but drown himself in alcohol. Christian, his older brother, the twisted son of a bitch, decided to make Grant beat up their younger brother, Thomas. Made Grant chuck him in a well and refused to let him help. Finally, he managed to get Thomas out." Clint took another sip of his beer, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. "Skye had her own problems too, jumping between foster home and foster home. They were there for each other through thick and thin. Grant developed a crush on her, which she didn't reciprocate."

Tony's eyes were filled with grief for the kid and a frown was on his face. "Man, that's some tough shit to go through. But at the mention of the girl, he jumped up and walked away. Did he really take it that bad when she didn't return his, uh, feelings?"

Clint shook his head grimly, raising the bottle to his lips. "No, it's not like that. She had been away at a foster home when, uh, Grant's sister tried to kill herself." Tony choked slightly. "She was with her boyfriend, Miles, when Grant showed up unexpectedly. Naturally, since they were always there for each other through everything, he thought that she would help him. She didn't even ask why he was there. Just started going off on his ass. He made a comment back about underage drinking with her boyfriend and she got…defensive, you could say. She started screaming at him and telling him that he wasn't her brother and she didn't need him or his input. I don't know what was going through her mind that day, but if I ever see her, she's getting her ass kicked."

Tony's eyes hardened. He couldn't imagine the kid's reaction, everyone was different. It was a horrible thing. To trust someone so deeply and for them to spit at you without so much as a second thought. "How'd you find him?" he croaked out.

Natasha answered this time. "Woods. After she said those things to him, he grabbed necessities and booked. Slipped out during the night. He met Buddy in the woods where he stayed for around one and a half to two years. We were on mission when we came across him. This guy…" She nudged Clint, "insisted that we take him back with us, so we asked him. He chose to come and we've been training him ever since."

Tony sighed dejectedly, running his hands through his hair. "Damn. Well, tell the kid I'm sorry. And if he still wants to talk to me, tell him to call this number." Tony took out a pen and notepad from his pocket, jotting down his cell phone number. He ripped the piece of paper off and handed it to Clint.

"I'll let him know," promised Clint.

"Thanks." Tony stood up. "I've got a meeting tomorrow morning, so I'm gonna head to my room."

"Who's the meeting with?" asked Natasha curiously.

Tony, who was making his way to the door, paused and gave her a small smile. "An Agent Hand-Job I believe."

He gave them a wink before leaving.

* * *

 **AN: Just some family bonding time, an annoying-as-per-usual Tony Stark, archery lessons, and prankster Natasha. I definitely thought they needed some fluff after the last chapter, but added a bit of seriousness in there too.**


	10. Birthday

**AN: Before the chapter starts, I would like to address the reviews from last chapter.**

 **First up, Alkeni: Thanks for asking this question! Currently, the Marvel movies that have taken place are _Captain America: The First Avenger, Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, and Iron Man 2._ In the Marvel movies, I believe it was stated that Tony Stark was a S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant before joining the Avengers Initiative. Also, he knows Natasha from _Iron Man 2._ In this story, the three of them are friends before the events of _Avengers_. **

**Portnoy SP: I'm afraid I can't answer that question because you'll just have to find out as the story progresses. :)**

 **Lynoll: Thank you so much for the kind words! I love writing, so I'm glad you enjoy this story so much.**

 **VMars lover: Thank you! And I love Tony too. Don't worry, this isn't the last you'll see of him.**

 **Gatemaster: I can't say whether or not that'll happen, but just know this isn't the last time Tony's arrogant face will pop up!**

 **Kajtena: Thank you! And haha, yeah. "Agent Hand-Job" just felt like something Tony would say, so I had to throw it in there.**

* * *

Throughout the next few days, Grant resumed his training with Hawkeye. He was more determined than ever to improve his archery skills. He was more closed off than he had been in a while, but Clint didn't mention anything out of fear that he would get even more pissed.

His archery skills had improved significantly. Grant wasn't as good as Clint, but he was learning at such a rapid pace that he could be considered a prodigy. He had hit the center of his target almost every single time for the past few days and had moved on to increasing his draw speed.

He trained extensively with Natasha in hand to hand, pushing himself harder than he ever had before. He couldn't get the thought of Skye out of his mind now that Tony had accidentally brought her back to the forefront of his thoughts. He pushed himself to his limits and past, refusing to stop. His body ached all over, but he pushed the pain away. Pain was a weakness. Sadness was a weakness. He sprinted and swam, working his cardiovascular system as much as possible. He also upped his calisthenics regime. There was no time to play games. He had to be the best. He wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

 _Grant sprinted into the woods without looking back, backpack slung over his shoulder with clothes, a picture of him and Skye that he couldn't part with, and a few other things. He made sure to pack a few blades, ranging from small to butcher knives. He wasn't stupid, he knew that there was a high possibility he would need to defend himself out there._

 _He hadn't even left a goodbye note for her. She wouldn't care. She probably wouldn't even come back to his house to apologize. She wouldn't find out for a while that he was gone. He kept running, his muscles burning and throat dry. The trees were a blur as he moved. Would he spend the rest of his life out here? He honestly didn't have a damn clue. Right now, he didn't care either. He had to find a good place to set up shop._

 _He hadn't even noticed it was raining heavily until he heard a whimper. He stopped dead in his tracks. A howl. Turning toward the noise, he approached cautiously, using the trees as cover. Peering into the clearing, he saw a chocolate brown dog curled up, tail blocking its eyes as it wailed in what he could only guess was fear. Carefully, he approached the dog. It noticed his presence and backed away, barking at him. He advanced deliberately, his hand extended. He lowered himself down to the dog's level. It sniffed him for several moments before hesitantly rubbing its head against his leg._

 _He rested his hand against the back of the dog's head and scratched lightly. "Hey, little guy. You lost?"_

 _The dog stared at him before placing one of its paws on his knee. He smiled. "You want to come with me?"_

 _As he got up and walked a few paces, he turned his head to see the dog following him. His smile widened. Looks like he had a companion. He knew, survival wise, it was a good idea and a bad one. A good idea because he would have a friend and a protector. A bad idea because he would also have to protect it and feed another mouth. He would do it though. He couldn't just leave it in the middle of nowhere._

 _"Come on, let's find shelter for the night and then I'll figure everything out tomorrow." The dog walked next to him, keeping up with the pace he set. He looked down at it as he walked. "I'm gonna call you Buddy. You like that name?"_

 _The dog barked._

 _He took it as a 'yes' and grinned._

 _"Buddy it is."_

* * *

He awoke the morning of his birthday, no trace of excitement in his features. He hadn't celebrated since his sixteenth birthday, which he had spent with Skye, just like he had every year since they met. He sighed, running his hands through his messy hair. Buddy approached him happily, licking his cheek. Grant let a smile break out on his face, running his hand through his dog's fur.

"Hey, Buddy. Come on, let's get you some food."

Grant got up, pulling on a white short-sleeved shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. He entered the kitchen, grabbing a dog bowl and filling it with food. He placed it down for Buddy before doing the same with a bowl of water.

He went through the living room, making his way to the training area. He was stopped in the doorway by Clint and Natasha, who blocked his path. He frowned. "What are you two doing?"

Clint's glare made him slightly nervous. Were they mad at him? What did he do wrong? Was he going to get kicked out? Did they find someone better than him? Did they realize that they didn't want him anymore? _Stop panicking, you're being stupid!_

Natasha crossed her arms. "You didn't tell us it was your birthday."

His eyes widened in realization. _Oh._ "I uh-"

Clint cut him off before he could continue. "Did you think we wouldn't find out? S.H.I.E.L.D. always finds out."

Grant was at a lost. He had absolutely no idea what was going on. They were patronizing him for not telling them when his birthday was. Why on earth would they do that? "Uh…"

Natasha cut in this time. "We are going to take you out to eat and watch movies and pull pranks on Fury and-"

"You are going to let us because it's your birthday and you deserve happiness," finished Clint.

Grant stared at them, blinking rapidly. They wanted to celebrate with him? They weren't throwing him out? They didn't hate his guts like everyone else? Okay, that last one was pretty stupid. If they hated him, they would have thrown him out a while ago. These two had definitely earned his trust multiple times over. He needed to stop doubting them. A smile grew on his face. "Okay."

This is what it felt like to be loved.

* * *

"So then Fury told me to put a bullet in her," said Clint, explaining how he first met Natasha. "I couldn't do it because I thought there was more to her than just being an assassin. I convinced her to come with me and I brought her to Fury, who said it would be my responsibility to take care of her."

Natasha laughed at the memory, taking a sip of her chocolate milkshake as the three of them walked to the pool to go for a swim. "Personally, I think he just found me too hot to kill. I think he wanted to get his hands all over me."

Grant almost choked on his vanilla milkshake. "God, Tasha. Where did you learn to be so dirty-minded?"

Clint grinned proudly. "She learned from the best. Me, of course."

He rolled his eyes. "You people scare me sometimes."

Natasha clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, you'll be as bad as us soon enough."

"Please no," muttered Grant, face flushing.

Natasha turned to Clint, a devious smile on her face. "We should fill the pool with vodka."

"Why I think that's a marvelous idea," replied the archer, a smug smile on his face.

Grant rolled his eyes again. "Guys…no."

They turned to him and spoke at the same time. "What, why?"

"Because, purified alcohol has a lower density than water. If we stop swimming for even a second, we sink. Plus the fumes have a chance to make us cough and inhale the liquor. We could then get drunk and pass out, dying in the pool," said Grant in a monotone voice.

Natasha frowned. "Yeah, but-"

The archer continued. "It would be so much fun. You do have a good point but why do you-"

"Have to ruin all the fun?" finished the redhead.

He stared at them for a moment. He never understood how they were so in sync that they could finish each other's sentences. It was like they shared two halves of the same brain. "Yes, because it is sooo fun drowning in a pool," he said sarcastically.

Natasha huffed. "Fine, you win. No alcohol-filled pool."

Clint sighed before his face brightened. "At least we still get to prank Fury after."

* * *

They returned to their suite, towels wrapped around their waists. He slipped into his bathroom, stepping into the shower. As the cool water ran across his skin, he recalled a moment of one of his birthdays.

* * *

 _Skye sat snuggled against his chest as they watched a Star Wars marathon. He wore a white shirt and Nike shorts while Skye was dressed in loose-fitting red pajamas._

 _"Grant?" she mumbled against his chest._

 _He looked down at the back of her head, admiring her honey brown hair that smelled like lemons. He smiled to himself. "Yeah?"_

 _She lifted her head off his chest and rummaged through her backpack. She pulled out a framed photo and handed it to Grant. "Happy fifteenth birthday."_

 _His smile widened at the picture of him and Skye. They were laying on his roof, her head pressed into the crook of his arm as he held her._

 _He pulled her into a hug and they held each other close. "Thank you," he whispered. "You know, you're the best thing to happen to me."_

 _She blushed slightly. "And you to me."_

* * *

He reached forward, turning the knob to stop the water. Dripping, he remained in the shower for several minutes before opening the glass door, stepping out. Suddenly, a pain shot through his wrist. He gasped in pain. It felt like the area was being branded by a hot iron rod. When the pain subsided after a few minutes, he looked down to see a black infinity sign engraved in his inner wrist. _What the hell?_

Drying himself off quickly, Grant turned on the sink. He lathered his wrist with soap before scrubbing the area with a sponge, desperately trying to remove it. He had no idea what the hell it was or how he got it.

About five minutes later, he groaned in defeat. The damn thing was not coming off. He exited the bathroom in his underwear. Walking to his closet, he pulled on a gray long-sleeved thermal to hide it and long black pajama pants.

He walked into the living room to say goodnight to Clint and Natasha and thank them for today, but once again, they were already waiting for him. They looked uncertain and slightly nervous as they stood by the couch. "You guys okay? You look off."

Clint cleared his throat. "We…uh…we've never had someone we could really call a kid, but, uh, it kinda feels like you're ours. We just wanted to, uh, let you know how we feel."

Natasha was rubbing her hands together anxiously while Clint ran a hand through his hair. His eyes widened slightly at what Clint said and immediately he understood why they seemed so nervous. They were worried he wouldn't feel the same way. He smiled brightly, walking up to them and pulling them in for a hug. Startled, they did not respond at first. Then, slowly, they both wrapped their arms around him.

"I think I can live with Hawkeye as my dad and Black Widow as my mom," he muttered teasingly.

Clint let out a relieved laugh while Natasha's lips curled upward.

She reached behind her and handed him a picture frame. "It's not much but…"

It was a picture of the three of them, Clint resting a hand on Grant's shoulder, a smile on both of the men's faces, while Natasha was in the background making a face, a bottle of vodka in hand. He felt happiness well in his chest, the same feeling he got when Skye gave him that photo on his fifteenth birthday.

"It's perfect!"

* * *

Fury grumbled to himself as he entered his kitchen for a night-time snack. He grabbed a banana and opened the refrigerator, taking out the orange juice. He poured a glass of it and drank. He frowned and spit it into the sink. _God, that tastes like shit._ Bringing the glass up to his lips, he smelled vodka. Growling, he pulled out a container of apple juice. He sniffed it. _Smells like vodka too._

His neutral expression morphed into one of frustration and slight amusement.

"ROMANOFF! BARTON! WARD!" he shouted.

* * *

 **AN: More family bonding time. The plot rolls forward in the next chapter, but I couldn't help adding a bit more fluff. I love the three of them as a family. And Natasha kept her promise about pranking Fury. Hope you guys enjoyed!**


	11. Merger

"So," came Clint's voice from his comms unit. "Whose turn is it for movie night?"

Natasha, who was to the right of Grant, slammed two opponents' heads together. "Mine."

Grant scowled, dodging a kick and sending his bow into the man's face. "You picked last time."

Natasha bashed another guy's head in with a stapler, a frown on her face. "Really? I thought it was Clint."

Laughter echoed on his comms. "Nah, I'm pretty sure it was you, Nat. Why don't we just let Arsenal pick?"

Grant, nicknamed Arsenal by the lower level S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, smiled, firing an arrow into someone's shoulder before turning around and jabbing the edge of his bow into a man's stomach. The man doubled over and Grant finished him with a knee to the jaw. "I choose _The Dark Knight_."

Clint crashed into the room via a glass door, groaning as he collided with an office desk. "You love Batman."

Grant pulled the string taut before releasing, an arrow piercing another one of his attackers. "Well yeah, he's Batman."

Clint pulled himself to his feet before once again joining the fight. "You act like he's some sort of undefeatable guy."

Natasha dodged a blow, planting her shin in the side of her attacker's head. "Because Batman with prep time always wins," she said sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes, stepping to the side of a knife, jamming his elbow into the man's nose, and kicking him to the side. He jumped backward to avoid another slice, drawing in arrow and firing it into the other assailant's shoulder. He was grabbed from behind. Struggling in the grip, he flung himself backward. The force caused his attacker to back up, knocking his head into a wall. With a gasp, he let Grant go. That was all the room he needed. He slammed his bow into the man's forehead.

Grant exited the room, moving down a corridor in the high-rise that they were currently located in. "Moving to intercept the target."

"Why do we even need this guy? What's his name again? Alejandro Ramirez?" asked Clint.

"Sources say he might have information on alien technology," informed Natasha. "Fury wants him brought in for questioning."

"Remind me why we're the ones who have to do this?" grumbled Clint.

The redhead scoffed. "Because we're Fury's best and most trusted team."

"What about that Melinda May person?" whined the archer. "Can't she and Coulson do it?"

"Clint, quit being a whiny bitch and let me focus," growled Grant.

Natasha roared with laughter.

Grant turned a corner and spotted a fleeing Ramirez. "He's heading west on this floor, moving toward the elevator. I'm in pursuit."

Ramirez turned the corner and disappeared. He accelerated, sprinting throughout the maze of hallways. Every time he turned a corner, his target had already slipped into another hallway. Grumbling, he watched as Ramirez turned left up ahead. He slid a door open, entering an office. On the other side of the large space, was another door. _Perfect._ He ran toward it, pulling down on the handle. _Locked. Damn it._ Using as much force and precision as he could muster, he placed a well-aimed kick, knocking the door down. He entered the hallway, coming face to face with a shocked Ramirez. Smiling to himself, he drew an arrow and aimed it at Ramirez chest. "Stand down!" he growled.

Instead of listening, Ramirez, being a complete idiot, dove forward to try and tackle him. He took several steps backward, lowering his aim and firing an arrow into the man's thigh. He howled in pain as he collapsed in a heap.

"Got him," notified Grant, a smug smile on his face.

"Nice job, meet Clint and I at the roof for extraction."

"Copy that." Grant grabbed Ramirez by the shoulder and lifted him to his feet, which caused the man to cry out again. "Come on, dipshit, we've gotta go."

* * *

"Good work today," congratulated Fury as they sat in leather chairs on the other side of his desk.

"Thank you sir," they said at the same time.

His eyes lingered on Grant. "Ward, you look like a damned vigilante."

Fury had given Grant a new uniform to go along with the name Arsenal. It was supposed to be a funny joke, but everyone took a liking to the name and suit. It was a dark red full-body leather outfit with a bulletproof vest weaved into the material. He had a red eye mask that covered most of the top portion of his face, while the lowered hood cast a shadow over the rest. Flechettes were strapped to his waist and lower leg while a quiver was attached to his back. He grinned. "Thank you sir. I'll take that as a compliment."

Fury chuckled before getting to the point. "I'd like you to merge teams."

Grant stiffened. Despite being at S.H.I.E.L.D. for over a year and a half, he barely knew anybody besides the people in this room. He knew Tony Stark, but he technically wasn't even a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. He had spoken to Agent Hand several times, but he didn't like her all that much. Clint noticed his reaction and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze for reassurance.

"Merge with who?" asked Natasha.

Fury smiled. "Coulson and May."

He frowned. Their names had been mentioned earlier that day. He knew a bit about Coulson from Tasha and Clint. He was a Captain America fanatic who believed in everything S.H.I.E.L.D. stood for. He was also pretty much the Director's favorite person besides Maria Hill.

The redhead assassin nodded before speaking. "With all due respect, Director Fury, Grant doesn't really work well with anybody besides us. In fact, I don't think he likes anybody besides the people in this room. I do not think this is a good idea."

Fury's smile remained intact as he turned to Natasha. "I am well aware that Grant dislikes ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people working for S.H.I.E.L.D., hell probably even the world. However, I think this is a good idea. Besides, you'll probably be the greatest Strike team that S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever assembled. And, since I'm in charge, you can't really say no."

Grant clenched his fist tightly. He respected Director Fury a lot, but this made him angry. What was the point even? He was doing fine with Tasha and Clint, he didn't need two random people. _Besides, we are already the ultimate team._ It took all of his self-restraint to not give Fury another eyepatch.

The Director continued. "You'll be meeting them in the briefing room downstairs in fifteen minutes. Dismissed."

They rose and exited like they were told.

And then Grant exploded.

"Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit," he fumed.

Sighing, Clint put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it, kid. Everything'll be just fine. I'm sure everyone'll get along."

Grant could tell the archer sounded doubtful.

* * *

 _Yeah, remember when I called bullshit?_

Phil Coulson was a nice guy, sure. Grant was professional… _scratch that._ He was semi-professional around other people, but not with his adoptive family. But Coulson…he took professional to an unheard of level. Everything about the guy reeked of justice, freedom, and work. Maybe Tasha could teach him a thing or two about how to actually live a little. He was Caucasian, in his early thirties, had brunette close-cropped hair, and wore a suit everywhere. Grant wouldn't be surprised if he slept in them.

And then there was Melinda May. The Asian woman in her early thirties was nice, loved to pull pranks, and was supposedly a very good agent. In all honesty, he could see a bit of himself in her…although he couldn't quite place what exactly it was.

 _So, why don't I like them?_

And the more he thought about it as Coulson continued talking about their job as Strike Team Delta, he realized it wasn't that he didn't like them.

It was that he didn't trust them.

Trust had been his biggest issue, especially since Skye.

 _"I am well aware that Grant dislikes ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people working for S.H.I.E.L.D., hell probably even the world."_

No, he didn't dislike ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people in the world.

He just didn't trust ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people in the world.

* * *

 **AN: So, this is my AU version of Strike Team Delta. Yes, I threw in a DC reference by giving Grant the Arsenal look and name. Again, this is how I feel he would be like if Natasha and Clint found him. Plus, each of the main characters in the MCU has their own definitive suit, so I thought I'd give Grant one. Next chapter involves a lot of time skips. Then, I believe the chapter after that will begin my take on the plot of season one. There will be flashback references to Strike Team Delta in later chapters, so the next chapter isn't the last you'll see of them, especially because they were just introduced.**

 **Also, I had to throw in the Batman with prep time line.**


	12. Who I Am

**AN: I'm going to address a few reviews first.**

 **Alkeni: Thank you so much! Glad you enjoyed the chapter :)**

 **Portnoy SP: Thank you! I'm glad that you like this story so much. And some chapters will be longer than others. In fact, next chapter is around five thousand words long, I believe.**

 **Prepare for major feels.**

* * *

Months later, Coulson and May were added to the list of people he trusted. He'd spent so much time with them that he couldn't help it. They practically moved in with him. Coulson's strategies and intel on most of the ops were spot on. May had snuck him his first sip of champagne since Tasha and Clint wouldn't let him have any. Plus, she had saved his life a few times. There was that one time with the guy who hit him in the back of the head with a submachine gun and he almost fell off the edge of a building. And then another where she dragged his bleeding ass straight out of a warzone while under sniper fire. And then…yeah, point was that she had definitely earned his trust.

"Target?" asked Grant.

"This guy," answered Natasha, showing him a picture of a middle-aged Caucasian with a goatee, close-cropped brunette hair, and green glasses. "Name's Microchip. He's a part of the Rising Tide. He's being held captive on an oil rig."

"Rising what now?" he asked, checking his MP5 ammo.

The assassin rolled her eyes. "Rising Tide. It's a hacker groupie type thing. Information belongs out in the world and all that bullshit."

He resisted the urge to face-palm. The entire reason information wasn't leaked was so people could be protected. These guys were like anarchist shitheads or something.

"Oil rig, really?" mocked Clint, strapping on his tactical gear.

May chuckled. "We just deal with the situation, we don't pick the location. Bad guys sure like theatrics though."

"That they do," said Coulson through their comms. "I'll be monitoring the op from the Triskelion. Neutralize the enemy force, rescue the hostages, secure the target. Surveillance shows there's two hostage rooms. One on the lower level and one on the highest. Two entrances to each room. Natasha, you're with Clint. May, you're with Grant. Suppressors only, we want this to go quiet and smooth, until you get to the rooms. Once both teams are in position, place breaching charges and go loud."

"Understood," they all said, strapping on parachutes.

They made their way to the back of the plane as the cargo ramp lowered.

"Coming up on the drop zone," informed their pilot. "Three…two…one…drop!"  
And so the mission was a go.

The air whipped across his face as he descended. Most people would feel giddy or nervous, but Grant was calm and collected. That was what a Specialist had to be in any circumstance. He pulled the chute at the appropriate height along with everyone else to slow their descent. Clint and Tasha hit the upper deck, but he and May veered slightly to land on the lower level.

When their feet hit the ground, they were already moving. His parachute was off within the blink of an eye and he went to work. There were two men leaning over a railing near them, and another two looking away on other sides of the room. He nodded to May and they slipped forward. They couldn't risk choking these two out because if even a single sound was made, the other two idiots might hear it. He grasped his SOG SEAL 2000 knife, a personal favorite, tightly and moved in sync with his partner. The two men were dispatched quickly and quietly and they gently lowered the bodies to the ground.

He pointed his thumb at his chest and jerked his head to the left. The message was evident. _I get left, you get right._ She nodded. They moved at a blinding speed and their marks were on the ground within a few seconds.

"How's everything going?" asked Coulson.

"Smooth. Bottom level's already cleared out," replied Grant.

"Yeah, same with upper level," answered Clint. "This is too easy."

"You're telling me," mumbled May.

"Continue with the plan. Breach and clear," commanded Phil.

"Copy," they replied.

Grant handed May a breaching charge and they made their way to their respective entrances. Breathing deeply, he placed the charge and stepped away, readying his weapon.

"In position," he mumbled.

"Charges set."

"I'm good."

"Ready whenever."

"Breach!" ordered Coulson.

The charges went off and Grant peeked through the doorway. Seven hostiles. May was on the other end. With deadly accuracy, he shot down two of them while May took down another two in the back. _This is too easy._ He turned and shot, two bullets connecting with the forehead of another hostage taker. He vaguely remembered his first time killing. The way the scissors felt in his hands. The stickiness of the blood. The clearly visible deep cut in the man's throat. The stickiness of the blood as it practically sprayed all over him. The sickness in his stomach. He had never felt guilty. And he still didn't. Killing was just as easy now as it was before. Something that probably should have worried him, but it didn't.

He must have been moving on autopilot because by the time he finished recounting the events of that day, the room was cleared out and he was subconsciously already finishing the mission, untying hostages.

"Guys!" shouted Clint in the comms as the sound of gunfire echoed.

"What is it? Are you okay?" asked Grant quickly.

"We've got Microchip but they had backup. I don't know where the hell these guys came from!"

"Alright, we need to extract the hostages. Coulson said there would be three helicopters. One for the bottom level, two for the top. We'll get these people in the chopper and make our way up to you."

He turned to May. "Come on, we've gotta get these people out."

They exited the room, checking their corners. The bottom level was still abandoned, meaning all of the reinforcements were focused on recovering Microchip. The helicopter was already in position.

"Go! I'll meet you up there!" shouted May.

He nodded, leaving May to direct the hostages into the chopper, and sprinted up the stairs. The middle level was completely deserted as well. He cursed. _How many hostiles are up there?_

He got his answer when he halted at the top of the stairs. It was a warzone. Impact sites where bullets hit were everywhere. Shells littered the ground. Hostile bodies and bright red blood practically painted the floor. He stepped over a few, taking cover behind a crate as he heard shouting. As the voices grew closer, he jumped into action. It was at moments like these that he loved being excellent at his job. He could keep a cool head even with armed men shooting at him. Because he had the skills to dispatch them quickly and efficiently. It was almost like he was born to do this, like it was in his nature or something.

The first man went down with a well-placed shot to the throat. A second followed shortly after, his own knife protruding from his neck. He almost felt bad. These guys didn't stand a chance against Arsenal. He put another one into the ground with a shot to the back of the head. He continued clearing out hostiles left and right. A bullet grazed his side and he winced before his expression went blank. A skin-deep wound was nothing to worry about. Normal people might have freaked out, but he was more worried about finding Clint and Tasha because they were nowhere to be found. As he crept forward, making sure he eliminated everyone, he heard a quiet cough coming from inside a large crate. He approached cautiously, pressing his ear against it. More coughing. He could hear words, but couldn't understand them. He pulled at the lever, unlocking it before kicking it open, gun pointed at the origin of the sound. It was Clint. The archer had been shot in the shoulder. Cursing, he lowered his weapon. Natasha glanced up at him as she applied pressure to the wound. Microchip was in handcuffs, sitting against the side of the crate.

"He was shot. Through and through," explained Natasha. "We have to get out of here."

He heard a noise and whirled around, gun aimed. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was just May. May and Natasha supported Clint while he hauled Microchip to his feet.

As they made their way to the final chopper, he felt a smile on his face. Sure, he was bleeding out of his side. Sure, Clint got shot in the shoulder. Sure, they almost died a few times today.

But they lived, they made it through.

Because they were a team.

And they were in it together.

* * *

He waited by Clint's bedside throughout the night, keeping an eye on him. He was in a white tank top and black basketball shorts. He smiled to himself. He had a lot of basketball shorts. They were comfy yet felt so stereotypical and…normal. He wasn't normal. He killed people for a living. But, he also protected the innocent. Still…not normal. He scratched absentmindedly at the damn infinity sign on his inner wrist. He still couldn't get the thing off. He didn't even know what it was. Nobody had seen that he had it. He usually always covered it up. It burned sometimes, like it was doing right then.

"You got an itch?" mumbled Clint.

Grant visibly jumped. He hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings, which he cursed himself for. He was usually always focused. "How are you feeling?"

His adoptive father smirked. "Like I took a bullet to the shoulder. You got an itch?" he repeated.

"What?"

Clint rolled his eyes and pointed at Ward's wrist, where he was still scratching. "You're scratching." The archer grabbed his arm before he could protest. The archer's eyes widened at the black infinity sign and he smiled widely. "Atta boy."

"Atta boy what?" asked Grant, confusion evident.

"You mean you don't know what that is?"

"A tattoo. This is gonna sound weird but I have no idea how the hell I got it. And I don't get drunk considering you guys won't even let me drink, so I think I would have remembered getting this."

Clint laughed loudly, wincing and placing a hand on his injured shoulder. "That's not a tattoo, Rookie. That's a soulmate mark."

Grant's throat dried up. Soulmate mark? _What the hell?_ He didn't have a soulmate. He didn't like anybody. Nobody liked him except his team and Fury. "Soulmate?" he croaked.

"Yeah, soulmate. Tasha and I are soulmates. See," he said, pulling down his hospital gown and shifting to rest his weight on his uninjured side. On his shoulder blade was a black widow with two arrows protruding from it, reminding him of a skull and bones.

He frowned. "I thought that stuff was bullshit."

Clint chuckled again. "Nope. Not bullshit. I thought the same thing until I met Nat."

There was someone out there with the same mark as him? Who? What did she look like? What was her personality? He thought about it for a few moments before shrugging it off. He couldn't afford to care about this mystery person. He had a job. He needed to protect people, not think about somebody that he hadn't met yet.

Soulmates were bullshit anyway.

But then again, Clint and Tasha both had that same mark. And they were together.

Still…bullshit.

* * *

 _Remember when I said soulmates were bullshit?_

He was wrong.

Everything was bullshit.

At the age of twenty-two-and-a-half, another person exited Grant's life.

He blinked rapidly and in utter disbelief as he stared at Coulson, who had just returned – alone – from a mission in Bahrain. "W-w-what?"

"Melinda is not coming back," repeated Coulson for the third time.

Clint and Natasha stood at his sides, comforting hands on his shoulders as they stared at the ground sadly.

"Why?" he whispered.

Coulson sighed heavily, moving forward to hug him. "She witnessed something terrible in Bahrain. She has no wish to continue active duty as a Specialist, so she's going to be working in an office from now on."

Melinda May…left? She was one of the greatest Specialists that S.H.I.E.L.D ever had. And she just left. She was one of his biggest role models and like an aunt to him. She snuck him champagne when he was underage, saved his ass at least a dozen times, and knew his story like the back of her hand. She was one of the most caring people he had ever known.

And she quit.

* * *

He called May's cell phone.

Voicemail.

He called her cell phone again.

Voicemail.

He called again and again and again and again.

She never picked up.

Finally, he stopped.

He would miss her.

At least he still had Coulson, Tasha, and Clint.

* * *

At twenty-three years old, almost twenty-four, everything went to shit again.

His world was crumbling around him.

"Clint! This isn't you!" he shouted, dodging the bow.

Currently, he was aboard the Helicarrier, fighting a mind-controlled Clint. Stupid Asgardians. Stupid Chitauri. Stupid Loki. In his Arsenal gear, he went head to head with one of his mentors. It was a heated battle as Grant struggled against the experience the elder man had. He barely managed to dodge the knife heading for his throat. Disarming him, Grant kicked the knife to the side. He grabbed Clint's fist before it could connect with his ribs. "Please don't make me hurt you!" Why was this happening? What the hell was even happening? One second everything was fine and the next his father figure was leading a charge on the Helicarrier. Clint slammed his elbow into Grant's cheek and he cursed, stumbling back. "Clint! Please!" Tears blurred his vision. Grant didn't want to fight him. He didn't want to hurt him. "Please! Just stop!"

He jumped over a sweeping kick and growled, tears flowing freely. He banged his own bow into Clint's face as he gave up the defensive. "I'm sorry, Clint! Just snap out of it!" His mentor tried to grab at him, but he held him down and smashed his bow into any available part of Clint's body. His head. His shoulder. His ribs. His groin. "SNAP OUT OF IT!" The other archer went limp underneath him, unconsciousness claiming him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around, posed to attack. He let out a breath of relief at the sight of Natasha. She stared down at him dejectedly.

"Go help everyone, I'll take care of Clint," she whispered.

He nodded, steadying his breathing as he took off running.

* * *

Today was a day that Grant could probably consider a tie for the worst day of his life, along with the day he ran away. As he sprinted throughout the Helicarrier, he came to a stop when he heard a familiar breathy laugh.

"So that's what it does."

"Phil?" he called, moving closer.

"Grant?" croaked Coulson.

He entered the room and paused at the sight. Coulson was bleeding everywhere, laying against the wall with some laser thing spread across his lap. He glanced over Coulson's body for the wound and when he found it, his heart stopped beating. Coulson had been stabbed through the chest. "Phil," he whispered. He ran forward, kneeling by his adoptive uncle.

"Hey Grant," coughed Phil.

"Hey, shhh, it's gonna be fine. Just don't talk. I'm gonna apply pressure, alright?"

Phil grabbed his hand and Grant froze, eyes locking with Coulson's. "You're a good man, Grant. You don't deserve any of this. You should have grown up happy, had a great life. You're practically a son to me."

"I am happy," muttered Grant, tears in his eyes. "You and Tasha and Clint make me happy. We're a family, even if May left. You'll be fine, yeah? You'll get all patched up and everything'll go back to normal."

Coulson smiled weakly before closing his eyes.

"Coulson?" he cried. "Coulson? Don't go! PHIL! Come on, open your eyes! OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES!"

* * *

 **AN: So, yeah...that happened. Like I said last chapter, major time skips. There will be flashbacks to Strike Team Delta, so that's not the end of them. Next chapter is the pilot episode.**

 **Also, Highlander348: Ward does not become an Avenger, but, as evidenced by this chapter, he is present during the events of the movie.**


	13. Pilot

**Alkeni: Hehe, sorry/not sorry about the feelings. And thank you!**

 **VMars lover: Thank you!**

 **Kajtena: Yeah, he's gonna be having a very long talk with Coulson sometime soon.**

 **Blazed Posts: Your comment pretty much made my entire month! I'm glad you like it so much!**

 **AN: I really hope you guys and girls enjoy this chapter. It was a blast to write!**

* * *

He'd been alone again for a while now. He was twenty-five. Running solo ops. Beating the shit out of bad guys. Espionage. Interrogation. Being tortured by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s enemies. He'd hung up the Arsenal hood the day Coulson died, refusing to put it back on.

May had quit somewhere around three years ago to take a desk job. He lost count of exactly how long it had been. It felt like hundreds of years since he'd last seen her face.

Coulson was six feet under. Grant had cried for days. And then the tears had stopped. He was empty. He couldn't cry anymore. As cold as it sounded, the man was gone. He couldn't do anything about it.

Natasha and Clint went to live with the Avengers. He had tried to come with them, they wanted him to, but Fury and Hill reassigned him to solo work. He still kept in contact with them, calling regularly.

But something was missing.

He wasn't happy.

Not anymore.

Not since his perfect family had fallen apart.

He missed them.

He thought of them.

But he also thought of her.

 _Skye._

The name brought mixed emotions. Sadness. Happiness. Tears. Anger. Punches. Jealousy. More punches. He liked to punch stuff when he thought of her. It quelled whatever he was feeling. He only ever did those things in private because once he exited his quarters, he was a Specialist who put a lid on his emotions. He was much shorter with everyone now. He rarely ever cracked jokes like he did with his family. He was agitated easily, the slightest thing could set him off.

"What does S.H.I.E.L.D. stand for, Agent Ward?" asked Maria Hill, who sat at the table across from him.

Underneath the table, he scratched his soulmate – _still bullshit –_ mark as he glared at the brunette in front of him. It wasn't that he disliked Maria Hill, he just didn't really like talking to anyone anymore. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

She crossed her arms. "And what does that mean to you?"

The level six Specialist almost scoffed as he bit back, "It means someone really wanted our initials to spell out S.H.I.E.L.D." At Hill's annoyed look, he answered seriously. "It means we're the line between the world and the much weirder world. We protect people from news they aren't ready to hear. And when we can't do that, we keep them safe. Something turns up…" He slid the item that he was sent to retrieve across the table. "…like this Chitauri neural link, we get to it before someone bad does."

"Any idea who Vanchant was planning to sell it to?"

He furrowed his brows. "I'm more interested in how this Rising Tide group found out about it. I thought they were just hackers. What changed?" He hated the Rising Tide. Natasha's description of them was pretty spot on.

 _"Rising Tide. It's a hacker groupie type thing. Information belongs out in the world and all that bullshit."_

They were everything he was against. Then again, he wasn't even really sure what he stood for these days. He supported S.H.I.E.L.D. and what they did, but he wasn't happy.

He had heard Fury say something once… _what was it?_

 _"Ward's lacking passion."_

Yeah, that was it. He had the skills to do pretty much anything S.H.I.E.L.D. asked him to do, but he did it without passion. _That's kind of what losing everyone you care about does to a person._

"Everything's changing. A little while ago, most people went to bed thinking that the craziest thing in the world was a billionaire in a flying metal suit. Then aliens invaded New York and were beaten back by, among others, a giant green monster, a costumed hero from the forties, and a god."

His glare returned full force. He didn't need a reminder of the invasion. He had lost practically everything that day. Instead, he simply said, "I don't think Thor's technically a god."

"Well, you haven't been anywhere near his arms," she replied sarcastically. "The Battle of New York was the end of the world. This, now, is the new world. People are different. They have access to tech, to formulas, secrets they're not ready for."

He rolled his eyes. "Why was I pulled out of Paris?'

"That, you'll have to ask Agent Coulson."

Ward's eyes snapped to hers and he clenched his fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. "Don't bullshit me like that, Hill," he growled.

"Hey Grant, welcome to level seven," called a very familiar voice.

He twisted in his seat to see a ghost step out from the shadows.

 _Holy shit._

"Sorry…that corner was really dark and I couldn't help myself."

 _Holy freaking shit._

"I think there's a bulb out."

It was such a Coulson-like joke that he almost laughed. _Damn. He's real._

Phil Coulson was alive.

* * *

"Fury stuck me in a grass shack in Tahiti. Rough gig. Mai Tais, Travis McGee novels, and a physical therapist whose command of English was irrelevant," explained Coulson, a happy note evident in his voice.

It took all of Grant's self-restraint to not knock Coulson's teeth in. He was practically his uncle, and he had pretended to be dead while he vacationed in Tahiti. But…he was stabbed through the chest. That shouldn't be possible. _Stop questioning everything, he's alive._ "But something put you back in the game."

Coulson nodded, playing a video of an African American in a blue hoodie jumping out of a burning building and landing…on his feet. _Great, more shit to deal with. As if Loki's invasion wasn't bad enough._ "What is that?"

"That, Grant, is a superhero. An unregistered gifted."

He watched as video after video popped up on the screen. How in the hell was the Rising Tide so good? This shouldn't be possible. They were the most powerful government agency in the world.

"Another little present from the Rising Tide."

"How are they getting this stuff before us," he asked, a light growl emitting from the back of his throat.

"Same way they hacked our RSA implementation," sighed Coulson, stopping the video. "They're good." He turned to Grant. "So I need better."

Hill spoke for the first time since they entered the room. "Agent Coulson has requisitioned a mobile command unit, to which you are assigned."

"The Rising Tide is trying to draw us out," said Coulson, continuing with a smirk. "I think it's time they succeeded."

A smile spread across Grant's face. "You want me to cross them off?"

Phil's smirk turned into a frown. "Wow. No. Since when did you get so morbid? I want to use them to get to him. This man's world is about to get very weird. He's gonna need some help."

Grant's eyebrow twitched in agitation. "I'm sorry. I'm a Specialist. A welcoming committee is not my speed. And in answer to your question, the day you died is when I got so morbid. The day everyone thought they lost you. The day Natasha and Clint left to stay with the Avengers and I was forced away from my family. That was the day I changed."

Coulson gulped as he watched the younger man grow furious. He quickly tried to get back on track. "I know it's not what you want. Agent Hill did a very detailed assessment of your last three missions," he said, flipping through Grant's reports. "Combat, top grades. Espionage…she gave you the highest marks since Romanoff. Congratulations, you've improved a lot. Under people skills, she drew…I think it's a little poop with knives sticking out of it."

Hill tried to interject. "What? It-"

"That's bad, right?" continued Coulson, ignoring Maria. "Honestly, you've changed a lot."

Grant's eyes narrowed at him as he clenched his fists. "Yeah, that's kind of what happens when your entire world has fallen apart repeatedly."

Coulson took a deep breath, reaching out with his hand. Grant scowled at him until he reluctantly dropped it. "I really think you're the guy for this."

An African American doctor that Ward had seen before, Doctor Streiten, walked in. "We're meeting now. Team's approved." He handed Phil a manila folder. "Physicals are all fine. FitzSimmons is not cleared for combat. I'm told that won't be an issue." He glanced up at Ward. "Agent Ward here…he's almost too fit."

Grant jumped at the chance to get out of this, crossing his arms. "That's an issue. That should be an issue. Maybe I can't join the team-"

"God," groaned Maria. "You're dismissed."

* * *

Grant growled to himself as he entered the airfield in his expensive black suit, white dress shirt, black tie, and dress pants. He took off his sunglasses as he approached the plane, suitcase in hand.

 _Coulson calls this the Bus? Really?_

Then again, he was always fond of weird names.

"Yeah, got it! whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Watch it! That's the night-night gun," cried a Caucasian with a Scottish accent. His hair was a curly light brown and he wore an open brown jacket with a white dress shirt and a tie that Grant couldn't even describe if he wanted to.

"Well, it's on my stuff, and it doesn't work," said a British woman in a blue shirt, her brunette hair almost reaching her shoulders. "And there's no way we're calling it the night-night gun."

The Scot looked incredulous. "The bullets work. Nonlethal, heavy stopping power, break up under the subcutaneous tissue with a dose of only .1 microliters of Dendrotoxin."

The two moved into the lab as they continued bickering.

The woman set her bags down on one of the white desks as she rolled her eyes. "I'm not Hermione. I can't create instant paralysis with that."

He lost them after that, head swimming as they argued. It was like they shared the same brain, finishing each other's sentences and talking over one another yet always understanding what the other person was saying. Squeezing the bridge of his nose, he breathed deeply. His head was hurting now and he was pretty sure his ears were going to start bleeding any second. Finally, he decided to put himself out of his misery and dropped his suitcase to the floor. The resounding _thud_ got their attention. "FitzSimmons?"

The woman pointed to her partner. "Fitz."

The man nudged his head in her direction. "Simmons." He pointed to himself. "I'm engineering." He pointed to Simmons. "She's biochem. Agent Ward, right? Arsenal? I am a huge-"

Grant cut him off before he could go into a rant about the old nickname. "Coulson said I'd need my comm receiver encoded." He handed it to Fitz, who moved toward a desk and grasped a hammer. "Don't know if you've worked with that model before. It's brand…" Fitz smashed it to bits. "…new."

Simmons gave him a small smile. "He'll repurpose the I.D.I.S. chip."

Fitz examined the remnants of the smashed device. "Don't need the external receiver for the inner-ear comms anymore."

He stepped forward. "So, how does it-"

Suddenly, Simmons was on him and sticking a cotton swab in his mouth. "Embedded sensorineural silicone matched to your DNA. It's very posh." She stepped away to look at the sample she extracted from his mouth. "So, are you excited to be coming on our journey into mystery?"

He glared down at her. _Okay, these two are officially annoying._ "It's like Christmas," he said, expressionless.

A screeching noise prompted him to turn around just as a red 1962 Chevrolet Convertible rolled up, parking on the ramp. _Lola_ , he smiled fondly. He was kind of surprised the old car still worked, especially after it was totaled by his favorite pair of assassins.

"One of Coulson's old S.H.I.E.L.D. collectibles," came Fitz's voice from behind him. He wanted to roll his eyes, he knew all of this already. "Flamethrowers, world's first GPS. He's mad for this crap."

As a technician advanced, Phil stepped in front of him. "Don't touch Lola."

 _There's the Phil I know._

"And he calls it a girl's name." Fitz clapped him on the back. He visibly flinched at the unwanted contact. He hated when people he didn't know or like touched him.

Coulson walked up and nodded his head toward the staircase, signaling for Grant to follow. He did, falling into step behind the older man. "Lola's in perfect shape nowadays. I had her fixed up after her little…accident." They made their way through the lounge, which consisted of brown leather couches and chairs, a fifty-five inch television, a coffee table, marble bar top, and bunks that filled the sides of the room.

"Throw your stuff in your bunk and pull out the chest from under your bed. I brought you a little surprise," smiled Coulson.

"If you plan to unpack, make it quick. Wheels are up in five," informed an all too familiar voice.

He glanced up and froze at the sight of Melinda May walking up to them in a S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket and long-sleeved black shirt. He couldn't believe it. Three years. Three god damn years with no calls, and she stood in front of him as if nothing had happened. He wouldn't be surprised if steam was coming out of his ears. "May?"

She acknowledged him with a sideways glance. "Hey, Grant. Been awhile."

"A-awhile," he stammered out. "Three years. I thought I was never going to hear from you again!"

She gave him a light smile, which he noticed didn't reach her eyes like it used to. Bahrain must have changed her into a completely new person. She handed Coulson a folder. "We may have a hit on one of the Rising Tide's routing points."

Phil took it with a nod. "Good. We need to do some catching up."

May walked off without another word, leaving behind a pleased Phil and very frustrated Ward.

"Three years. And all she says is 'Hey, Grant. It's been awhile,'" he grumbled.

Coulson placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "She's been through a lot. Bahrain changed her. She's quieter, she doesn't like to be touched, so no hugs. She's more reserved, doesn't joke, and probably won't hang out with you like she used to. Kind of like you before S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dynamic duo found you."

He winced as the memories of his life before S.H.I.E.L.D. came back to him unbidden. _His mother wielding his father's belt. Glass shattering and cutting into his skin. Books pounding into his head and ribs. Skye. His brother's screams. Skye. The splashing of the well. Skye. His sister's blood all but painting her room. Skye. Miles. Skye choosing Miles over him. Skye not caring about him. The woods. Skye. Buddy. Camp. Raiding cabins. Skye. I wonder how Buddy's doing at Avengers Tower with Clint and Tasha. Skye._

He inwardly sighed before making his way to the bunk designated for himself, sliding the door open. He unpacked his few belongings that he brought with him. He only really needed the necessities. He also brought with him a picture of Strike Team Delta. He smiled at the memories of what it was like when everything was okay in his life. He took out his gun case, sliding it underneath the bed. He would arrange hidden weaponry in the room later.

Pulling out the chest that was under his bed, he opened the lid. His smile turned into a wide grin as he stared down at his Oneida Kestrel, Arsenal uniform, quiver, voice changer, and arrows. He pulled out the bow, weighing it in his hands. It still felt natural, even after around a year of no usage. He laid it on his bed before pressing his fingers into the familiar fabric of his uniform. He ran them slowly and gently along the length of the outfit.

It was time to haul ass.

* * *

Grant followed behind Coulson, entering an alleyway. He smiled. Of course the Rising Tide lived in freaking alleyways. They were idiots who used all their resources to hack top secret government agencies that only wanted to help people. Sighing to himself, he stood next to Coulson in front of a blue 1983 GMC conversion van. Coulson, who wore an immaculate suit and black aviators, nodded to him. He reached out and slid open the van door.

An olive-skinned woman with brunette hair that went slightly past her shoulders turned to face them, an annoyed expression on her face. He analyzed her quickly. Purple shirt. Black leather vest. Tight blue jeans. Dirty Converse. He hated to admit it, but she looked beautiful, even though she clearly lived in this thing. She had a tire pump in hand and it looked like she had been moving to exit the vehicle when they interrupted her.

But her eyes. The endless sea of pain, misery, sadness, and happiness in those chocolate orbs confirmed who she was. _Skye._ He was face to face with Skye. His childhood friend who he loved that turned her back on him. Nine years later. Nine god damn years. How in the hell did he find her now? Fate? Was fate even a real thing?

"Hey, so, if you're here to kidnap me, could you give me a second? I need to put some air in my tires," she said, a sarcastic tone evident.

That brought him out of his stupor. He pulled a black bag over her head and practically threw her out of the van.

* * *

The second Skye was seated in the interrogation room, Grant pulled Coulson into the hallway.

"Did you know?" he growled, his voice slightly robotic from the voice changer.

Coulson shook his head, a frown on his face. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't know we'd find her."

"I want her off this plane immediately!"

If Skye was staying, he sure as hell wasn't. Just because he hadn't seen her in nine years, didn't mean he particularly wanted to see her now. He had no idea exactly how to react. His mind was reeling with mixed emotions. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to use her as target practice. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to ignore her. He couldn't shift through the emotions, so he bottled them up.

"I'm sorry, Grant," whispered Coulson. "She has valuable intelligence on the unidentified gifted. She could prove useful to us. I would like you to be present for her interrogation."

He growled, punching the wall in frustration. "If I'm in there for a second longer than necessary, I will rip out your jugular," he warned.

Phil gulped slightly. "Alright."

* * *

Grant entered the room, glaring at Skye from underneath his hood. He took his place in the corner of the room, hands resting on his bow as he stood straight.

"You guys are making a big mistake!" insisted Skye, pulling slightly at her handcuffs.

Grant scoffed, his mechanical voice filling the room. "You don't look that big."

Coulson took a seat across from Skye, resting his hands on the table that separated them. "Sorry for the lack of finesse. Arsenal here has had a little history with your group…the Rising Tide."

Skye laughed, relaxing slightly in her chair. "Arsenal? Really? What is this? A cartoon show?"

 _Defense mechanism_ , he noted. _She tries to seem like she's relaxed and hides behind sarcasm._

Coulson smiled slightly, amused at her words. "I don't think you should be taking that tone. He's not very nice if he hates his victims."

That got her to gulp nervously. "Victims?"

Phil shrugged, resting his head against a closed fist. "Sure. You're lucky I'm the one leading the interrogation. He's a little…unorthodox in his methods," he stated, leaving her to guess the implications of what he meant.

Grant smiled inwardly. He didn't enjoy interrogating people, but he was very, very good at it none the less. Especially because he learned techniques from personal experience.

"So," continued Coulson. "The Rising Tide, huh."

"I don't know what you're-"

Grant interrupted her. "Okay, there are two ways we can do this."

She smiled mockingly at him. "Is one of them the easy way?"

"No." He pulled out a flechette, tracing his gloved finger along the sharp point.

"We need the name of a certain hero," said Coulson, leaning forward.

"What makes you think I know that?" she bit back.

"Well, you made a little mistake. The phone you filmed the hooded hero with had the same cryptographic signature as a few of the Rising Tide posts."

She smirked. "Wow. Yeah. Was that a mistake? Or am I now sitting in the center of your secret headquarters? What is this? A plane?" He rolled his eyes at her naivety. Did she seriously think they would take her back to any of their main headquarters? "I got inside. And by now, you've discovered you can't beat the encryption on my equipment, so you got nothing."

It was Coulson's turn to smile. "We have a fairly strong coincidence…you being on the scene right before it went up in flames. Want to tell me what my team is gonna find there? How did you know the hooded man was in the building?"

Ward spoke up again. "Did you blow it up to draw him out?"

Skye turned to face him. "Did you?"

"That's not our style," said Phil.

"I was just kidnapped by your style! S.H.I.E.L.D. covered up New Mexico, Project Pegasus. Of course you'd be covering up Centipede."

 _Centipede. Good, we have a name._ Grant almost wanted to interrupt the interrogation, but he stayed silent.

Coulson looked Skye straight in the eyes, gaze unwavering. "You need to think about your friend. We're not the only ones interested in people with powers. We'd like to contain him, yeah.

The next guy will want to exploit him, and the guy after that will want to dissect him."

Skye sighed in defeat, continuing her explanation of how she found the hooded hero. "Centipede…it was chatter on the web and then gone. I traced the access-point mac address to that building."

"What were you after?" asked Grant, advancing.

She glanced at him, smile in place. "The truth. What are you after?"

"World peace," he growled.

She made a face, sticking her tongue out slightly as she poked him in the chest with her free hand, although he caught a look of fear in her eyes. "Well, just because you're reasonable and…firm, doesn't mean that you're not an evil, faceless government tool bag."

 _Hey, that was offensive!_

Coulson interrupted. "You understand he's in danger."

"Then let me go," insisted Skye. "Let me talk to him. Not the T-1000 here."

 _The hell's a T-1000?_

Phil glanced between her and Grant, sighing as he rubbed his eyes. "Alright."

"Sir?" asked Grant, incredulous.

"If it makes you feel better about the situation, you can talk to him."

 _Ah, so you're playing it that way. Getting her to trust us by making her think she has the power. Smart._

Coulson stood up, opening the door. Grant sighed, grabbing Skye by the arm after releasing her right hand from its handcuff. "Move," he commanded.

A tingling sensation erupted in his wrist at the contact, but he ignored it.

She looked up at him as he practically shoved her out the door. "You're not very nice, you know that?"

"So I've been told," he growled.

"What happened? Were you dropped on the head as a kid?" she snarked.

He tightened his grip on her arm in warning. "Don't talk."

She shut up after that.

* * *

Ward sighed to himself as Fitz, Simmons, and Coulson discussed Mike Peterson's condition. He had Extremis in his system, which they claimed was an unstable explosive that would blow within the next few hours. _God, what is up with super soldier programs and explosives?_ FitzSimmons solution was to isolate him or put a bullet in his brain. Grant was about to interject and say he would do it, when Phil insisted they come up with a third option so Mike's son didn't lose a father. He should have known that that was what his boss was going to say. Coulson was always looking for the option where everyone got out alive. FitzSimmons even believed the idea preposterous, saying there was no way they could do it in the limited amount of time they had. Phil had whirled on them, telling them to get it done.

"We have a problem," grumbled May over comms.

"What is it?" asked Grant.

"He took Skye," she growled.

"You all right?" asked a concerned Coulson.

"We'll deal with that later…at length." Despite himself, Ward smiled. You did not want to piss off The Cavalry. "Right now, we need to figure out where they went."

"Sir!" shouted Fitz. "Someone's hacking our secure channel!"

Coulson's eyes widened as he examined the screen that displayed co-ordinates. "It's longitude and latitude. Mike took Skye. She's telling us where."

Grant grabbed his bow and made sure he had a substantial amount of arrows.

As they made their way to the SUV, only one thought ran through his mind.

 _If only Clint and Tasha were here._

* * *

"Look at this place," insisted Ward as he walked side by side with his boss. "You're gonna risk thousands of lives over some nobody."

Coulson gave him a sideways glance. "Nobody's nobody. FitzSimmons will come through." He raised the megaphone that he had in his right hand. "Mr. Peterson, good morning. We're not a threat. We're here to help." Grant almost rolled his eyes at Coulson's attempt to play nice. He was talking to a superhuman who wanted nothing more than to run away from everyone. Did he seriously think sweet-talking was going to get them anywhere? "But you're in danger, and we need to take you in."

"What did you do?" he heard someone shout from inside the van. _Mike_ , he assumed.

Several seconds passed and nothing happened. The silence inside the van only meant one thing in Grant's book. He threw himself on top of Coulson and flattened the both of them to the ground just as the van door came off its hinges and flew over their head. Peterson took off running, tugging at his child and Skye, who tried to resist.

"You think he'll grab a burger with us after this?" quipped Coulson, pushing himself to his feet.

Grant glared at him from underneath his hood as he stood up. "Now is not the time for jokes, Coulson."

Phil frowned and continued the conversation as if they weren't in the middle of a crisis situation. "You used to love jokes."

His jaw ticked. "That was before you died and Clint and Romanoff left."

His commanding officer smiled sadly. "We'll have to fix that. Now come on, we've got your friend to catch."

Ward huffed lightly at that. She wasn't his friend, not anymore.

 _Nope. Nope. Nope. Nada._

* * *

Ward perched himself on the upper floor, sniper in hand, bow leaning against the railing. Coulson was trying to talk Mike Peterson down while Simmons backed up, holding onto Ace. Skye was trying to calm Peterson down with her presence beside Coulson. His jaw ticked as he lined up the shot, his reticle on the superhuman's forehead.

"I know you got poison in your system. I know it's burning you up. Mike, the last guy who wore that exploded," explained Coulson.

Peterson's expression shifted and… _wait, is he crying?_ "I'm not like that other guy. I'm…it matters who I am inside, if I'm a good person, if I'm strong."

"I have a clear shot," his robotic voice growled into comms. "Do you copy?"

Coulson glanced his way quickly before turning his attention back to Mike. "I know you're strong. Your boy knows it. He needs you to let us help."

 _Damn it, Coulson. Just let me take the shot!_

"You took him! You took my wife, my job, my house. You think this is killing me?! All over, there's people being pushed down, being robbed. One of them tries to stand up, you got to make an example out of him."

"You bring this building down on us, will that help them?" retorted Phil.

"That's a lie! All you do is lie! You said if we worked hard, if we did right, we'd have a place. You said it was enough to be a man. But there's better than man. There's gods. And the rest of us…what are we? They're giants. We're what they step on."

Grant really wanted to feel bad for this guy, but he was getting annoying with all of his rambling about how life wasn't fair and yada yada yada. His life wasn't fair from the moment he was born, but he didn't bitch about it every chance he got. Still, he felt a pang of guilt because this man had a son who obviously looked up to him, just like Grant looked up to Clint and Coulson.

"I've seen giants up close." Ward almost hissed at that. He didn't need Coulson to ever bring up that day again. The day he thought he lost one of his only friends and a parent figure. "And that privilege cost me nearly everything. But the good ones, the real deal, they're not heroes because of what they have that we don't. It's what they do with it. You're right, Mike. It matters who you are."

Footsteps approached urgently behind him and he twirled around, the butt of his gun aimed to strike. Fitz jumped, obviously startled. It took him a second to regain his bearings and he practically shoved what Grant assumed was the night-night gun into his chest. He set the sniper down and grabbed the gun.

"I could, you know? Be a hero," insisted Mike, tears streaming down his face.

Grant steadied the weapon, shifting slightly to adjust to the improper weight. He'd have to have a word with Fitz about it later, but it would do for now. Especially since the man holding the gun was trained by Hawkeye himself.

"I'm counting on it," said Coulson.

Grant pulled the trigger, the bullet impaling itself in Mike's forehead. The man fell to the floor with a loud thud. Phil's eyes widened as he and May whirled around to look up at his sniper position. Simmons ran forward as Mike's face glowed a light blue. Grant adjusted his hold on the gun to relax slightly. He could literally smell Fitz's sweat from behind him. Skye finally seemed to react, her mouth dropping slightly. Coulson took a cautious step forward as Simmons examined Mike's eyes. The Brit turned toward the rest of the group, a relieved smile on her face. He saw his childhood friend's face visibly relax as May called forth a group of paramedics to take Mike away. His boss glanced up at him, a smile spreading across his face. He nodded at his commanding officer, a small smile gracing his lips. For the first time in a while, he felt good. Nobody died that day. He could have killed someone and ended it like he had been taught, but he didn't. Maybe this was a better way to handle things. And although it was a tense event, everything was okay at the end.

"Subject is in stable condition," reported Coulson. "All clear at Union Station."

* * *

Grant tried to block out the bickering scientists next to him. No matter what he did, their voices cut through his thoughts. After several impossibly long minutes, they practically skipped out the door, their conversation echoing behind them. Releasing a sigh of relief, he examined the bow in his hand as he recounted the events of his first day.

Coulson was back from the dead and he was going to make the most of it once he finally got time alone with the bastard. They were going to catch up and fill each other in on the events of their lives…and he might punch him a few times.

He wondered if he should tell Natasha and Clint about Phil being alive. After all, they were practically his overprotective parents. They had cared for him like he was family, trained him to be the best, and had saved his ass a bucket load of times. _Especially from that prison camp in Siberia_ …He shuddered at the thought, dismissing the horrible memory quickly. It was against protocol for him to tell them. But they had gone against protocol dozens of times for him. He briefly wondered if they already knew. It wouldn't be that far-fetched considering Clint had contacts in pretty much every alphabet soup agency. He would have to ask Phil later if it was okay to tell them.

May was back in his life, after three years of no phone calls or anything. Maybe she just wanted to be away from everything that reminded her of the field, but he still felt hurt by her actions. They were a close-knit group and to be ignored like that for so long…

And then there was Skye. Nine years later. Nine. And she had no idea it was him underneath the Arsenal hood, which he was thankful for. In fact, he had never been more thankful for the damn costume than today. He pondered what Coulson was going to do with her. The older man knew of her role in Grant's past. He momentarily considered the fact that Coulson might tell her who he was, but he dismissed the idea. The Captain America fanatic wouldn't do that to him. Would she be going to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility for her crimes? He briefly hoped so, considering the events of his childhood and the fact that her Rising Tide groupies had almost gotten him killed a handful of times, and broken his cover at least another dozen. In fact, it was because of one of their posts that he got to spend some quality time in that god-forsaken prison camp during a Siberian winter. But then, just as quickly as the thought came to mind, it disappeared. He was by no means forgiving her, or anywhere close to liking her again, but he couldn't bear to lose her again. Maybe it was stupid…maybe it wasn't. He didn't care. He couldn't lose her. Ever.

FitzSimmons burst back into the room, hands motioning dramatically as they talked over each other.

He held out a hand to silence them. "Calm down. What is it?"

"We just got a call from The Hub-" blurted Fitz.

"They want us to investigate-" continued Simmons.

"A 0-8-4," finished the Scot.

A headache made itself known, a dull thumping echoing in his skull. They were going to kill him with their tendencies. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing Coulson's number.

"Go," said Phil, immediately getting to the point.

He took a deep breath. "Sir, we've got a 0-8-4."

"Is that confirmed?" asked his boss, a disbelieving note evident in his voice.

"They want us to go in and confirm it."

"Understood, Arsenal. We're on our way."

"Wait, what do you mean 'we'?"

His uncle hung up.

 _God. Damn. You. Phil._

* * *

 **AN: I really hope you guys and girls enjoyed this! I changed a few things of course, since this is an AU. Skye doesn't know that it's Grant underneath the hood. Also, our resident pair of assassins crashed Lola! Would be an interesting story, hm? Also, what's this about a prison camp in Siberia?**


	14. A Helpful Talk

**AN: Wow, so it's been awhile. School started again and I just haven't been able to keep up with all my stories. I'm so sorry about that, but I've come up with a narrower vision for this account that will be detailed in my bio by the end of the weekend. I got so many reviews, which I'm super happy about, that I don't know which ones to signal out and reply to. So, I'm just going to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with the story even throughout my absence.**

* * *

Grant made his way through the common area, fully intent on chewing his uncle's ass out when he got back. He was going to rant for twenty minutes about how Coulson should have said he was alive, and then he was going to slug the older man across the face for good measure. He ignored the science babies behind him as they tried to talk to him. Before entering the cargo hold, he turned around. "You will not call me Grant. You will not call me Ward. You will call me Arsenal. Is that understood?"

The pair jumped, obviously a little scared. He probably would have felt bad, but just by looking at them, he could tell they were terrible at keeping secrets. If giving them a bit of a scare would convince them to keep this one, then he'd do it.

"Uh, yes. Crystal clear, Arsenal," said Simmons nervously.

He turned his attention to the Scotsman beside her.

Fitz shook his head wildly, as if the action would get him to calm down. "Yes, yes. Of course."

"Good, then we'll have no problems with each other."

He pulled open the door, stepping onto the platform overlooking the cargo hold. He only had to wait a few minutes before Lola pulled up. His uncle parked and got out of the car. Ward's eyes narrowed at the person who got out of the car with him, Skye. She wore a red shirtdress that hit mid-thigh, a few buttons undone. Her honey brown hair was in curls and she looked beautiful. He quickly discarded the thought. She was not beautiful, she was a figure from his past and an enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D. "Phil," his robotic voice whirred, "we need to talk."

He watched as Skye, who was picking up a box filled with possessions, glanced at Coulson, who was slightly paler than a moment before. His uncle was uncomfortable, good.

Phil cleared his throat, motioning to FitzSimmons, who were walking down the staircase to get to the car. "FitzSimmons, can you, uh, get Skye settled in while Arsenal and I have a much needed conversation."

FitzSimmons gave him a weird look, but nodded just the same, moving toward the trunk of the car. Coulson eyed him and nodded. He waited until his boss walked up the stairs before turning to follow him. They walked into the common room and then up another set of spiral stairs, arriving at Coulson's office. He fumbled with the keys before managing to open the door.

Grant was the second one to step inside. He kicked the door closed behind him and the second Phil turned around, he decked him. The older man stumbled backward in surprise. "That is for letting me think you were dead." He punched him again. "That is for letting Clint and Tasha think you were dead." He punched him harder, a third and final time. Phil cursed loudly. "And that's for bringing Skye onboard. What the hell are you thinking? You know how many issues I have with her. You know what she did."

Phil grabbed a rag to dab at his bleeding cheek, giving him a frustrated yet understanding glare. "I am aware. And I am truly sorry for doing this, but she's staying. She's going to be a member of this team whether you like it or not."

"She's from The Rising Tide," he stated, changing tactics. If Coulson wasn't going to do this for Grant, maybe he would do it for S.H.I.E.L.D. "She is a threat. Her and her buddies revealed information about covert ops, sabotaged important missions, and blew countless covers. She is not an ally."

"But we can turn her into one."

"You don't seriously trust her, do you?" asked Grant, disbelief etched into his mechanical voice.

"Why not? She helped when it counted, when Peterson needed us," insisted Phil.

"You can't seriously…" he paused, slamming his fist against his boss's desk. Coulson jumped backward, a shocked expression on his face. In the back of his mind, he registered that earlier that same day, he had told himself he didn't want to lose her. But right now, he was pissed. "I fucking hate you right now! If you're keeping her onboard, I'm leaving." He exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Hey, Arsenal!" he heard Skye call from behind him.

He ignored her, making his way to the cargo hold without even grabbing his stuff from his room. He would probably regret that later when he was forced to come back, but right now he just needed to get out of here.

"Arsenal, wait! We aren't even in New York!" shouted Coulson, trying to catch up with him.

He shrugged his shoulders, exiting the Bus. He scanned the airfield, spotting a Quinjet in a hangar. Making his way toward it, he replied over his shoulder. "Then I'll fly there!"

* * *

Tony Stark was working on an Iron Man suit when his cell phone buzzed persistently in his pocket. He ignored it, lowering the blow torch in his hands to wield another part of the suit. When his phone went off for a second time, he sighed in defeat, setting his work aside. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and accepted the call without looking at the ID.

"Tony Stark, sexy billionaire and playboy, speaking. How may I help you?" he quipped.

"Stark," answered Phil's grim voice.

Tony frowned at the older man's tone. "What's wrong?"

"You've got a very angry Grant heading your way," notified the level eight agent. "He just stormed out of my office and headed toward a Quinjet."

Tony sighed in frustration. "I take it that it's because of Skye."

"Yes," confirmed Coulson. "Are you sure bringing her onboard is the best thing for him?"

"Trust me, I spoke to the girl. She didn't tell me why she was a bitch that day, but she said she's regretted it every day since then. This'll be good for the both of them. Besides, kinda too late to back out now."

"I hope you're right. We've helped him a lot, but he's never been emotionally stable. Be prepared for a loose cannon."

"Roger that."

* * *

Grant burst through the door to the Avengers floor and practically ripped his hood off. His face was flushed with anger and frustration as he made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer. He popped it open before storming toward the room his parents shared. _The nerve of that bastard! Thinks he can just throw Skye on the team and get away with it. Well technically he can_ , he reminded himself, _since he's the leader of said team. But still, what an asshole. What did I do to deserve this? Not only am I going to be on the same team as her, she's going to be living on the same plane as me! This is so, so stupid._ He was stopped on the way by Steve.

"Hey, Grant," greeted the super-soldier.

He nodded in his direction. "Steve."

He tried to walk past, but the blond grabbed his bicep, halting him in his steps. "You okay?"

Grant shook his head. "I'm in the middle of a crisis right now, so…"

Steve examined him before reluctantly releasing him.

When he reached his parents' bedroom, he threw the door open. Clint, who was dressed in a black shirt and Nike shorts, looked up from his book. Natasha, who was sleeping in her black pajamas, jumped up at the sound of the doors opening. When she saw who it was, she lowered herself back onto the bed. Grant set his beer on the nightstand.

"Hey," greeted Clint, closing his book.

"Hey pops," he responded, running a hand through his hair as he flopped down on the bed next to them. "I hate everything right now."

"Why's that?" asked Natasha.

"I got assigned to a new team," he huffed.

"Yeah, we know. Coulson's team," stated the archer.

Grant peered up at him, raising an eyebrow. "You know he's alive?"

Clint laughed. "I found out almost a week ago. Took me awhile to find anything, but I have a lot of contacts. Once I barged into Hill's office demanding an explanation, she told me everything, even that you were going to be joining his team. I figured instead of telling you, I'd let you see for yourself."

The younger Specialist nodded in understanding, not really caring that Clint had kept the secret. It was only for a week after all. Besides, he had more pressing issues. _Like the fact that Coulson took Skye in!_ "Well, that's not the only thing," he grumbled.

Tasha grinned at him from where she lay against a pillow. "Let me guess, you don't like the two scientists."

"No, it's not that. Although, they are kinda annoying. We found Skye. My first mission with the team and Coulson has me kidnapping her from a van! Not that that part is really his fault. He couldn't have known that she was the Rising Tide member we were after."

Natasha chuckled while Clint's expression changed to one of disbelief. "She's a Rising Tide member?" asked the redhead.

"Yeah! They're like the definition of what's wrong in this world and she's one of them! Or 'was', according to Coulson."

"What do you mean?" asked Clint, eyebrows furrowing.

"After the mission, Coulson drove up in Lola, which he apparently got fixed after the accident you two caused, with Skye in the passenger seat! He's very trusting of her, which is odd because he's usually never like this at all."

Clint was already moving by the time Grant finished his story, grabbing his Hoyt Gamemaster II recurve bow and quiver.

"What are you doing?' groaned Natasha.

"Suiting up," responded a gruff Clint. "I'm gonna whoop Coulson's ass."

The female assassin shifted, placing a gentle hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. "Maybe that's not the best idea. We should let this hash out by itself."

The archer's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're going to let Coulson do this?"

"I'm not letting anyone do anything," she protested. "It's his call, he's the leader of the team." She turned to Grant. "Grant, you need to calm down about this. Who knows, maybe you and Skye can work through everything."

Ward snorted, grumbling loudly. "As if that'll ever happen."

Natasha smiled gently. "If you try, maybe it will."

"So, I take it you guys won't be speaking to Coulson?" he questioned.

"Oh, don't worry, we're going to speak to him about this. We're just not going to force him to remove Skye. There will be rules, of course. For instance, if she deliberately hurts you, I'm going to use her for knife training," deadpanned the assassin.

"And," added Clint, a smug smile on his face, "there are a few new prototype arrows that I'm working on. I'm sure she'd make a great test subject."

Grant smiled inwardly. He could always count on Clint and Tasha to be overprotective of him.

"I, uh, should probably start heading to Peru. We're supposed to be investigating a 0-8-4 but I just lost my shit with Coulson."

They nodded and pulled him into a quick hug.

"Kick some ass," said Natasha.

"Don't die out there, Rookie," commanded Clint, raising a playful eyebrow.

Grant huffed. "I'm not a rookie. I'm level seven."

The archer smiled. "That might be, but you'll always be my Rookie."

He nodded, his lips curving into a smile. "Bye guys."

* * *

As he entered the Quinjet, closing the ramp behind him, he briefly went over his conversation with his parents. Perhaps he could try to give Skye a chance. It wouldn't be forgive and forget because that sure as hell was not happening, but maybe they could find common ground again. It was going to be hard, but he would give it a chance.

The plane lifted off the ground and he set course for his destination, Peru.

* * *

 **One of the things about Grant in this story is that, while he is strong physically, he has emotional issues. I think that's something that the Grant on the show has as well, but they don't explore enough. Hopefully, I can do that here. I really hope you guys and girls enjoyed.**


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